


A Man Walked Into a Bar: Chris and Brian

by chris_edward (hwshipper)



Series: The Chris 'Verse [9]
Category: No Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Foursome, Group Sex, M/M, Polyamory, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-21
Updated: 2009-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-08 04:56:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hwshipper/pseuds/chris_edward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris makes a new friend at the club.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Man Walked Into a Bar

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta**: [](http://srsly-yes.livejournal.com/profile)[**srsly_yes**](http://srsly-yes.livejournal.com/) indispensible as ever.
> 
> Follows straight on from [The Life of Brian](http://archiveofourown.org/works/72915). Based on a plot outline by [](http://hickman1937.livejournal.com/profile)[**hickman1937**](http://hickman1937.livejournal.com/).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris makes a new friend at the club.

Chris was in his office at the club, slumped back in his large leather chair and dozing at his desk, when his cell vibrated on his belt. He woke with a jump, grabbed it and peered at the caller display. _Wilson_. Now what on earth?

"Hey." Chris cleared his throat. "Wilson?"

"Chris," Wilson's voice rang cheerfully down the line. "I've got a question for you. One of House's patients, guy called Brian, is looking for a place to move in a hurry. We wondered if there'd be rentals going near your part of the shore?"

"Um..." The question was unexpected, but then any question would have been. Chris tried to think when he'd last heard from Wilson--it had been a few months ago. Thanks to House, who'd been his house guest at the time, he'd split up with Matt. "There's some nice rental apartments just a couple of blocks from the beach, about a mile from the club. I saw a vacancy sign up just this morning."

"Great. Would you know the name of the realtor?"

"Yeah, gimme a sec." Chris had recently transferred the contents of his ancient and bulging address book to his computer. He leaned over the desk to hit the keyboard and find contacts. "They aren't cheap though, those apartments, not even at this time of year." He should know; he'd paid Matt's rent there for the best part of two years. What a stupid fucking waste of money _that _had been. "This guy got money?"

"We think so," Wilson said.

Chris read off the name and number of the realtor, and went on, "He's a friend of mine. Tell him I sent you, you might get a better deal. If he calls me about it though, I'm not giving a recommendation--not for a patient of House's I've never met."

"That's fine, thanks Chris."

Chris hung up, wondering what the hell had got Wilson involved with this. He was curious about who this Brian guy might be, but decided not to inquire further. Best not to get caught up in anything House was concerned with. There was no way he was going to start nursemaiding one of House's patients.

His eye fell on the clock; time for his shift. He'd been working the bar for a week now and was still getting used to the idea that he had to be there at a particular time. He yawned, stretched, and headed to the downstairs bar.

"Can't get used to seeing you behind there," said one of his regulars as he slid in behind the counter. "Business that bad, you've gotta bartend yourself?"

"Business is fine," Chris reassured with a smile. "I'm just filling in for a while. Bit of manual work, good for me, going back to my roots."

"Bob would never have allowed it," the regular said. "How is ol' Bob, anyway?"

Bob, his long-serving club manager had recently retired. "Happily sunning himself down in Florida," Chris reported.

Chris had started working the bar because he was bored. Losing Matt had left a big hole in his life. Linus was away in Australia and not due back for ages. It was the slow season and the quiet three-to-seven afternoon shift, anyway. And Chris was having fun stamping some authority onto his new manager, a younger guy called Ferdinand.

Most importantly, the downstairs bar was the perfect place to see new talent the instant it walked in. Chris hadn't anticipated it, but he was enjoying a very sexually successful run right now.

 

* * *

  
A couple of weeks after Wilson's phone call, Chris noticed a new guy coming in regularly almost every day at about four in the afternoon. He was a quiet customer, in his thirties, with a thin, pale face, dark hair, a beard, and large spectacles with wide black rims. He sat at the bar as close to the big TV as possible, nursed one or two beers, sometimes ordered coffee, and left around six just when the bar started to get busier again.

He never made any attempt to talk, and Chris noticed that if anyone tried to strike up a conversation with him, he was polite but up and gone, alone, within a few minutes. He seemed to wear a lot of clothes, as if he felt the cold.

After a week or so Chris started to watch out for his arrival and anticipate his preferred brand of beer. Good customer service. The first time he had the beer bottle waiting and opened for the guy's arrival at the bar, Chris was rewarded with an unexpectedly shy smile and a, "Thanks."

"No problem," Chris said, friendly. "I'm Chris."

"I'm Brian," the guy responded politely, and took his beer off down the end of the bar before Chris could try and extend the conversation any further.

_Brian_. Chris wondered whether to follow him down the bar and decided not to; the guy obviously didn't want company. Also, a couple of good looking young men walked in at that moment and Chris decided they warranted his full attention.

The following day Chris was ready with the beer and a casual remark, "Nice weather we're having for this time of year."

Brian looked a little startled, but nodded, and said, "Yeah. Summer seems to last longer here than in the city."

"You're from New York?" Chris hazarded. Brian nodded. "Staying in Jersey long?"

Brian shrugged. "'Maybe."

"Working? Vacation?"

Brian was silent for a few seconds and Chris thought for an instant that he might have probed too far, that Brian was going to up-and-leave, as was his wont. But instead Brian simply changed the subject, and said, "You own this place, right?"

"Yeah. Wilson told you?" Chris envisaged Wilson giving Brian a little background info about life by the shore.

Brian nodded. "You know House?"

"Kind of," Chris said with feeling. "Bastard, isn't he?"

Brian looked intrigued by that comment. "I know what you mean, but I think his bark is worse than his bite."

Chris considered this for a moment. "No, I think his bite is every bit as bad as his bark."

Brian didn't reply, but Chris caught a glint of brief sad vulnerability and thought, _fuck_. This guy's got a thing for House. Not a position Chris would have ever wished on anyone.

* * *

  
The next day while Brian was sitting down one end of the bar, a large guy was busy trying to put moves onto a young blond man standing down the other end. He didn't seem to be having a lot of success, and Chris drifted down the bar to remark in an undertone to Brian, "Think he's gonna get lucky?"

He moved away again before Brian could reply. When he returned a few minutes later, Brian was the one who spoke. "Five bucks says there'll be two pairs of shoes under his bed tonight."

"You're on," Chris said, pleased to get a reaction, and moved off again.

There was no progress by the time Brian left half an hour later. But the following day Chris greeted him with the usual beer and a five dollar bill folded underneath the glass. Brian saw it and smiled, for the first time Chris could remember. It made a big change to his face and Chris noticed he had green eyes behind the thick spectacles.

"Cool," Brian acknowledged, and glanced around the room. "Want a chance to win this back?"

"Go on."

"Guy in the corner there. Five bucks says that's a toupee he's wearing."

Chris laughed; it was the kind of thing Edward would have noticed, and bet on, too. The man's hair looked real to him, but was a rather odd reddish color that didn't match his complexion--there was a possibility Brian might be right. "I'll take your money. How do we find out?"

Brian didn't hesitate. "Wait 'til he needs a drink and comes over, and I'll fall on him and accidentally clutch at his hair."

Half an hour later Chris was apologizing profusely to the man, whose hair had indeed been real and stayed very firmly on his head despite Brian's best efforts to dislodge it.

* * *

  
After that, they fell into the habit of making silly bets. A dollar on what the next song on the jukebox was going to be, two bucks that the next person at the bar would order beer, a fiver on the outcome of whatever game was on TV, $18.5 million that the guy in the red shirt would turn out to be the babydaddy on Jerry Springer.  
They were bantering one day when Brian looked at his watch. It was five to six, but Chris didn't want him to go and sought a reason to keep him there.

"Kitchen opens at six. Why don't you stay for food for once? My treat." Chris rather thought Brian looked like he could use a decent meal.

Brian started to shake his head, then visibly changed his mind. "Okay, but I'll pay for it."

"This is my place--" Chris began.

"I know," Brian cut him off. "I'll pay. You can tell me what's good."

Chris shrugged, willing to concede defeat on paying if he could get Brian to eat something. "Steak's always good. I own a steakhouse down the coast, this place uses the same supplier."

"Steak it is," Brian said, and Chris watched with gratification that evening as Brian polished off a large sirloin and fries.

A young man with dark hair and dark eyes with long, curling eyelashes struck up a conversation with Chris while Brian was busy eating. Chris chatted back for a bit, then handed him a card to get him into the upstairs bar, and said he'd join him later.

* * *

  
After that Brian sometimes stayed at the club after six o'clock and ate dinner. Chris started leaving a bar stool behind the bar across from Brian. When he wasn't busy (and between four and six this was often) he sat with Brian. After six the bar started to get busy; Brian sat on his own and he and Chris exchanged the odd remark.

Brian never stayed very late. "I like to cook at home," he explained one time, and Chris, who also liked to cook at home, welcomed the chance to open up a new topic of conversation. They chattered about food for a while. It transpired that Brian's last boyfriend had been a chef. "So I hardly cooked the five years I was with him, but I did pick some stuff up, I'm trying to put it into practice."

_Five years._ That was a serious relationship; Chris was impressed. He'd been with Edward for ten, of course, but nobody since had come anywhere close to that.

"Where was he a chef?" Chris asked, wondering how the relationship had ended but not wanting to ask.

"At one of those chi chi little bistros that New Yorkers try to keep secret from the tourists," Brian said laconically. "Nice place. You could see into the kitchen from the the dining area, I used to go there to eat after work sometimes, and watch him show off for customers. Cooking with flames leaping from the frying pans, you know the kind of thing. But then he met this investment banker called Chuck. Chuck the Fuck offered to set him up in his own restaurant...."

Well, that answered that one.

"And I'd quit my job, so was unemployed and boring," Brian added, and lifted his beer glass to drain it.

Chris didn't comment on the latter, but he found it strange. "So why did you quit your job, Brian?" Chris dared ask.

Green eyes shone from behind the spectacles. "Why do you bartend?"

Chris frowned, processing this. "You were... bored?"

"I needed to change _something_." Brian looked at the ceiling and spoke with deliberation. "Law was sucking my soul away. It got harder and harder to get out of bed in the mornings, until one day I just couldn't look in the mirror even long enough to shave."

The last few words gave Chris the opportunity to lighten the moment. "So you stopped shaving and grew the beard?"

Brian laughed a little. "Yeah."

Chris grinned and tipped his head a little, then reached forward boldly and brushed a finger very lightly against Brian's bearded cheek. "Suits you."

Brian didn't quite pull away, but he got something of a startled-deer look in his eyes. Chris decided not to push his luck, and pulled back himself. Brian left soon afterwards, but then it was that time of the evening anyway.

* * *

  
Brian was back the following afternoon, and remarked in the course of conversation how much he liked the area. Chris, who had lived and worked in New Jersey all his life, waxed lyrical about living by the ocean. He told Brian about his house on the beach, the boat he part-owned in the marina down the coast, the various bars, restaurants and clubs he'd owned over the years which were dotted across the state.

"You ever spend time in Princeton?" Brian asked, apparently idly.

"Yeah, when I was--" Chris stopped, hesitated. Then figured it wasn't a secret. "When I was going out with Wilson."

Brian's eyebrows hit his hairline. "_Dr._ Wilson? House's--"

"Yeah," Chris said uncomfortable. "Long time ago. Must be what, eight, nine years ago? Just for a few months." Six months; six of the hottest fucking months of his life, after Edward had died of course.

"I wondered how you knew House and Wilson." Brian was obviously amused.

Chris saw an opportunity to say something he'd been thinking about. "Yeah. I'd recommend not getting stuck in the middle of the two of them."

"I'll remember that." To Chris's relief, Brian chose to move the conversation on. "You recommended my apartment building to Wilson, didn't you? Thanks for that; it's a nice place."

Chris laughed. "I should know, my last boyfriend used to live in the same one." He paused; he didn't think he'd mentioned Matt to Brian before. A word or two of explanation seemed in order. "Matt. He was an asshole. Just after my money."

Brian didn't reply to that, but looked at Chris with a quizzical expression, and changed the subject. "I like the area because it's nice and friendly, too. There's a lot of seniors living nearby, you know? I've been talking to people in stores, walking down by the beach, sitting outside. They're all very friendly."

"Um... yeah." Chris did know that the area further away from the beach was full of retired people, but didn't know anyone who lived there. There were a number of small mom-and-pop type shops, but they weren't places he frequented. He dimly remembered noticing a large square building with a sign outside at some point. "There's an old folks' community center there, isn't there?"

"That's right!" Brian nodded enthusiastically. "They're having a bake sale on Saturday. I said I'd make a couple of desserts for them. I thought a fruit flan and maybe pumpkin pie..."

This concept left Chris totally bemused. The idea of baking for seniors was a very strange one to him. The only local community he was part of was the large local gayborhood. He stared at Brian and thought abruptly,_ I can see why grandmothers would love him_.... On the surface Brian looked like a serious man, but there was an incredibly sweet natured goofball geek just below that.

* * *

  
And so gradually, over the course of a couple of months, somehow they drifted from being strangers to acquaintances to almost friends. Chris began to look forward to his bar shifts as the highlight of his day; more so than when he headed upstairs to the private bar later in the evening, met friends, spent some time in his office.

Chris noticed along the way that Brian was getting healthier looking. He no longer wore multiple layers of clothing and wasn't gaunt anymore. He recalled that Brian had been House's patient; he'd never wanted to inquire why, but whatever it was, Brian looked to be getting over it now. As he put the weight on, he looked increasingly... _good_, Chris supposed. Inevitably, Chris's thoughts slid across to what Brian might be like in bed.

He enjoyed Brian's company a lot, perhaps all the more so as he didn't have Linus around to talk to at the moment. Chris occasionally mentioned him in conversation and one day Brian asked who this Linus guy was.

"He's an old friend of mine. He's been in Australia the last six months with his boyfriend, Raul, traveling around. Partly work, partly vacation. I get e-cards of giant bananas and huge pineapples." Chris felt rather wistful. Linus had always been in the habit of taking long trips abroad but this was one of the longest, and furthest away.

He waxed lyrical to Brian for a few minutes about Linus. Chris had known Linus for a long time and didn't often dwell on their friendship. Describing it to someone else, though, even in a fairly light-hearted manner, made him realize how much he missed the big guy. And his beautiful sidekick too—Chris closed his eyes for a few seconds at the memory of Raul's soft mouth around his cock—but it was Linus, his best friend, who left the gap in his life.

"I sometimes wonder if he'll decide one day in some far-off land that he prefers it there, and just not come back," Chris found himself confiding. He'd never expressed that fear to anyone before.

Brian raised a brow. "He got ties round here? Family? Work?"

"No family, except for Raul who would live anywhere. Business stuff, yeah, but he's older than me, got some health issues, and he must have made enough money to retire if he wanted to." Chris took comfort in remembering Linus's lifelong attachment to the Jersey shore.

"I get the impression maybe you're family too," Brian said, and that startled Chris. He didn't know quite what to say, and was pleased to find someone needed serving down the other end of the bar at that moment.

He wondered what Linus would make of Brian. Linus had never liked Matt, but Chris rather thought that Linus might take to Brian. If Brian actually talked to Linus, and didn't up and leave at first greeting, which was all too possible.

* * *

  
One day about two months after getting to know Brian, Chris swapped a shift at the club to go spend the day at a restaurant of his which was some way away. He got back and headed to the club in the late afternoon, thinking he'd relax in his office for a while that evening, and perhaps say hello to Brian if he caught him.

He hurried slightly to arrive before six, and was pleased to find Brian still there, although he'd just finished his beer and was clearly about to leave.

"Hey." Brian seemed pleased to see him. "I hoped I'd see you today. I wanted to let you know I'm not going to be around for the next week or so. I have to go back to New York tomorrow, sort a few things out."

"Oh, okay. Thanks for letting me know." Chris hesitated; he'd only intended to say hi, but if Brian was going to be away... "Why don't you stay and have a drink with me?"

Brian looked at his watch. "I need to get home and pack--"

"Just one drink," Chris coaxed, and looked around for the bartender. A thought occurred to him. "Hey, we can go to the upstairs bar--you haven't been up there, have you?"

"No. Uh--"

Chris reached out boldly, grabbed Brian's hand and led him towards the stairs. It was the first real physical contact they'd had, and he was pleased that Brian followed, albeit hesitantly. At the top of the stairs the doorman stood aside to let them in. Chris paused to nod and tell him, "This is Brian; he can come up here any time, alright?"

"Wow," Brian said as they came into the room. They'd dropped hands now, and Brian fell a couple of steps behind Chris. "So this is your private bar?"

"Invitation only. Regulars can bring guests up here too." Chris led the way over to the bar; the bartender was already reaching under the counter for Chris's preferred bottle.

They leaned on the bar and drank Scotch. Brian knew a little about single malts, Chris knew; and Chris was pleased to see his eyes grow round with appreciation at the taste.

"Good stuff," he said.

"I keep the really good stuff in my office, out back," Chris explained. "Wanna try some? You can see my office too, I spend a lot of time there."

It was an old routine, one he'd done time and time again, drawing men he liked into his inner sanctum, passing through restricted doors, heading behind the scenes. Chris had it down to a fine art, knew how to reel them in, impress them; it almost never failed.

Brian hesitated, but curiosity to see Chris's office clearly got the better of him. "I guess..."

Chris led the way behind the bar, through a door and down a short corridor to unlock his office at the end. Brian came in, wide-eyed, looking all around, at the piles of books, the pictures on the walls, the large untidy desk, the big comfy leather chair behind it. He walked over to the window and peered out at the parking lot below. Chris pulled off his jacket and dropped it on the overstuffed couch, and that drew Brian's attention.

"That," Brian said, nodding, "must be the casting couch."

Chris hadn't mentioned the casting couch to Brian and was faintly embarrassed that Brian knew about it. It was an old nickname, but an appropriate one; the casting couch had seen a lot of action over the years.

"'Fraid so." He rummaged in a filing cabinet drawer for a bottle and glasses, poured some smooth amber liquid, went over to the window to join Brian. He handed Brian a glass, stood close.

"Chris--" Brian began, sounding uncomfortable.

"Cheers," Chris said gently, clinked the glasses, drew Brian towards him and kissed him.

And this was where Brian should have kissed right back, and they would have chugged on Scotch, then dropped onto the couch and started removing clothes. _But_\--Brian wasn't responding; worse, Brian was pulling away, stepping backwards. He was being turned down!

Chris felt embarrassment seep into his chest; he'd misread this one. _Badly_. Fuck. How had this happened?....

"Look--" Brian muttered, his face starting to turn pink.

"I'm sorry," Chris said immediately. His brain was flashing over the events of the evening, trying to figure out what he'd done wrong. Brian was shy; Chris had moved too fast. He'd hurried things along because Brian had said he was going away for a week. He should have just waited. His stupid impatient dick had led him on like it was now or never--

"I don't want to be just another notch on your casting couch," Brian blurted out, and Chris reared his head back in astonishment.

"You--you wouldn't be," Chris eventually managed to stutter. "We're friends--aren't we?"

"Yeah, and I'd like to carry on being friends, which is why I don't think this is a good idea." Brian put the glass down and walked swiftly towards the exit.

* * *

  
Brian walked away across the parking lot, feeling his cheeks burn, and wondered if he was going to regret this for the rest of his life.

Brian deeply admired the strength in Chris's long lanky body, his fair hair which curled ever so slightly, soft but alert gray eyes, economy of motion and calm professional attitude. Brian wasn't sure how old Chris was, older than him for sure, but Chris obviously looked after himself and still had an ass that most guys ten years younger--hell, twenty years younger--would kill for. Chris tended to wear casual shirts with a few buttons undone at the neck, and Brian caught the odd glimpse of chest hair.

Sometimes he saw Chris when he wasn't behind the bar, and that was a real chance to admire not only that ass but the full effect of leather pants and biker boots. One day Chris had arrived at the bar late, after Brian had gotten there, and Brian had seen him come in the door in a large brown leather jacket and carrying a motorcycle helmet under his arm. His hair, usually neatly combed, was ruffled from the helmet and Brian thought this was the sexiest sight he'd seen in years. Possibly ever.

So why the hell had he turned down this chance?...

Because... he'd come to New Jersey to get away from these senseless, soul-destroying one-night stands.

And fuck it, that would be all this would be.

He had spent the last two months watching Chris move up and down the bar dealing with the weepy guys that just broke up (again) with their boyfriend, the angry guys that were a little too loud at times, and the guys that came in, took one look at Chris, and spent a lot of drink money letting him know that they were available. He _knew _Chris was susceptible to the latter; he'd seen it God knows how many times.

He'd come to recognize the type Chris was likely to go for; cute, younger, brown hair, dark eyes, clean-shaven. It had got to the point where Brian could tell pretty much as soon as they walked in the door if they were the type. He'd seen Chris flirt back over the counter, give them cards to access the private bar, head upstairs at the end of his shift to join them.

And almost _nobody _got a repeat visit. The ones who did, paradoxically, tended to be the ones with boyfriends in tow; boyfriends who apparently didn't mind sharing. It took no insight at all from Brian to realize that Chris preferred this situation, indeed sought it out, because the odds of subsequent emotional entanglement were low.

He'd never fit into this tangled fucking web.


	2. Move Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris gets to know Brian a little better. Linus returns from his travels.

For a week Chris tried not to think too much about Brian. Brian had gone away, there was nothing to be done. There was no way of getting in touch, anyway. It wasn't like they had swapped phone numbers.

After a week he drove by Brian's apartment building a couple of times, even knocked on the door once. No reply; Brian wasn't back. That night Chris accepted an invite from a young mouthy blond and his older, prettier dark-haired boyfriend. An orgasmic time was had by all. Chris went home alone.

As a week dragged into ten days, Chris became increasingly twitchy. Maybe Brian wasn't coming back. Maybe Chris really had scared him away, and Chris would never see him again...

Chris just happened to be driving by Brian's apartment about 11 PM one night and saw the lights on. He stopped. Brian answered the door, and looked genuinely pleased to see him. "Hey, Chris!"

"Brian!" Chris almost thought he had the wrong house. The beard was gone--well, not completely gone, but thinned out and trimmed back into an elegant goatee shape. Brian's hair was cut shorter too, and he'd replaced the Buddy Holly specs with some smart glasses with almost invisible wire rims. Chris had found Brian kind of hot before, but damn. Those green eyes looked positively dreamy, now you could actually see them.

Two beers later Chris had to ask where Brian had been.

"New York for a week to check up on my apartment. Dealing with the mail, paying bills, meeting my accountant and attorney," Brian said, ticking off on his fingers. "Then I came back to Jersey but not here. I went to Princeton, stayed with my sister for a couple of days. Had to go back to Princeton Plainsboro for my last follow up physical."

A thought suddenly struck Chris. "You went to see House for the follow up." And although he didn't say it, he added mentally, _that's why you got the new look! _

Brian turned red, mumbled something and cleared his throat. Then he said, "My sister did this to me last night. Never relax around a woman that's nesting. She broke my glasses, that's why I'm back with the wire rims. Look at my hands!"

Chris leaned forward to peer at trim nails and soft, moisturized palms; Brian had been given a _manicure_. Chris roared with laughter: Brian grinned a trifle sheepishly, then produced a bottle of bourbon from a cupboard and did two shots in quick succession. Manhood restored, they switched to lighter topics of conversation between beer and whiskey chasers.

 

* * *

  
The next morning Chris woke up on Brian's couch at the sound of a toilet flush. He snuggled under the blanket, listening to feet padding through the living room, past the couch to the kitchen. Cupboards opening, water running, the sounds of clinking cups. Then nothing.

Chris waited a minute, then cracked an eye open and peeked from under the blanket. The living room ran through to the large open-plan kitchen, and he could see Brian leaning against the far counter, legs crossed at the ankle, arms crossed, T-shirt hiked up a little and old thin pajama pants sagging at the waist, showing a nice expanse of flat belly. Brian's head was drooping and Chris heard a snore. Brian had fallen back to sleep waiting for the ding from the coffee maker, which was never coming because the idiot had forgotten to hit ON.

Those pajama pants had been washed so thin that they were all but transparent. Chris could clearly see a sleepy cock resting on a shadowy scrotum.

Chris was up and off the couch and down the hall to the shower fast. He jacked off under the hot spray, eyes closed as visions of green eyes behind wire-rimmed spectacles danced before him. He breathed the scent of a familiar shower gel--fresh, seaweed, eucalyptus--he remembered it from that kiss in his office.

_Fuck it. _Somehow, he'd ended up falling for House's patient. How the hell had this happened? And how would he ever face that smug bastard of a doctor if House ever found out?

* * *

  
When the hot water finally ran out, Chris got dressed and walked out to the kitchen. Empty, but the coffee was made. He poured a cup and looked around the apartment for Brian. No Brian. Then he glanced out of the kitchen window.

The window looked out back, where a row of small houses began. And at the first house, there was Brian, on a ladder pulling at the edge of a bright blue tarp covering the roof. An elderly man was attempting to steady the ladder. Chris, ignoring his shower-wet hair, was in his jacket and outside with a firm grip on the ladder within a minute.

"Chris," said the elderly man in surprise.

Damn it, it was Jai Ray's dad. "Morning, Mr Kosinsky," Chris said weakly.

He realized what it must look like, coming out of Brian's house in the morning like that. Mr Kosinsky was going to assume he and Brian were together. Well, that was embarrassing but there was nothing to be done about it. "How's Jai--uh, Jerry?"

"Jerry's doing real good, thank you."

"I haven't seen him in a while," Chris thought aloud. He had known Jerry Kosinsky for years. Jai had worked as a bartender at the club for a while but he'd been living the high life in New York for a long time now, as Jai Ray, decorator to old money.

"He doesn't get home a lot," Mr Kosinsky said. "His business is doing real good."

"What's wrong with your roof?" Chris asked.

"Rain coming in," Mr Kosinsky said, hunching inside his coat a little. "We got buckets on the bedroom floor."

When Brian came down from the ladder, Chris pulled him aside and muttered, "I know these people. I know their son! What the hell is going on?"

"They're very proud of Jerry, don't want to bother him for help. Mr Kosinsky lets me help out because the missus is giving me baking lessons," Brian explained. "I found the leak and I've been doing my best to cover it up with the tarp, but there's a whole bunch of tiles got blown off by the storm last week, and the tarp's not staying on."

Jai would be horrified to know that his parents were failing to cope with leaks into their bedroom. Chris wondered what best to do. "We could get some new tiles and do a temporary fix. Then I can call Jai and suggest he might want to make sure it gets done properly when he next comes home."

"You know how to fix a roof?" Brian asked cautiously.

"When I bought my steakhouse, it was a burnt out shell. I put up the roof all by myself, pretty much." This was true, although that had been more than twenty years ago.

"OK, show me how," Brian said solemnly. They almost shook hands on the deal but pulled back at the last minute. Chris noticed that Brian had scuffed knuckles from wrestling with the tarp, and had quite lost the effect of his manicure.

* * *

  
The following day, Chris found himself stuck up on the roof of Jai's parents' house with this bozo that just put a roofing nail through his thumb, and who is he? He's House's loser patient that Chris swore he wasn't going to get involved with.

Frustrating as it was working with someone who was as likely to stick a shingle on his knee as on the roof, Chris found Brian had an infectious enthusiasm for the job, and was completely undaunted by such setbacks. Chris was so used to seeing Brian perched on a bar stool, it was quite a novelty just to see him in a different environment. Also, Chris was finding it interesting himself. He had long since employed people to do manual jobs like this, and it felt very satisfactory to be getting back to basics, just like with the bartending.

On the third day, Chris took a call from the absent son.

"Chris!" a loud voice trumpeted down the line. "What's this I hear about Mom and Dad adopting a brother for me?"

Chris was momentarily surprised, then amused. "Jai, hey, how are you? How's business?"

"I'm fine, Chris, and Jai Ray Deco is doing good. I've been reproducing Great-Great Grandmother's 'shattered silk' drapes for this old New York family who came over with the Pilgrims, or so they say... anyway, Chris, this Brian fellow of yours, what's that all about? Mom gave him her secret Pound Cake recipe, she's never given that to me, no matter how much I begged!"

Chris briefly explained, and Jai was duly horrified to hear about the leaks and that his parents had been too proud to ask him for help. "I will keep a closer eye on them, honest to God I will, Chris! I will set a private dick on them if I can't get home more often."

* * *

  
Brian greatly enjoyed working up on the roof with Chris. It was totally worth occasionally hammering a thumb instead of a roofing nail to be out in the open air, helping out the Kosinskys. With Chris a few feet away giving directions, clad in T-shirt and jeans and usually just a little sweaty in a delicious kind of way.

The trip to Princeton had been a great reassurance. The parasite was gone, House had gruffly acknowledged his weight was back to an almost healthy level, and the sight of Wilson hovering had convinced Brian ruefully that Chris was right; it really would not do to get caught up in the middle of House and Wilson. But he still thought he'd done the right thing after Chris's pass at him back at the club. He was too quiet for Chris, too reserved, too vanilla.

The last morning working on the roof, they decided that the new tiles were all holding fast, and came down to grateful thanks (and a large cheesecake) from Mrs Kosinsky. Chris came up to Brian's apartment to pick up a holdall of tools he'd left in Brian's living room.

"Wanna go get some food?" Brian asked, tentative.

"Sorry, I've got a working lunch with my accountant at the steakhouse." Chris glanced at the clock. "Gotta go."

"You can't meet your accountant like that," Brian protested, pointing to a grimy streak all down one side of Chris's white T-shirt where he'd leaned against the tiles.

Chris twisted his neck to see. "It's an informal lunch."

"I can get that washed, lend you a T-shirt in the meantime," Brian said, moving towards the door. His clothes should fit Chris. They were similar enough in height and build, now he'd put most of that weight back on.

"Okay," Chris said, cheerful. He crossed his arms and stripped the T-shirt off over his head.

At the sight of Chris's bare torso, Brian physically stuttered, halting mid-step. He'd known Chris was fit and strong, admired those muscular arms and shoulders. But seeing a firm flat stomach, a sprinkling of chest hair, and protruding nipples--fuck it all. A better sight even than those biker leather pants. Instant hard-on.

Brian gathered his wits enough to stumble out to his bedroom, find a clean white T-shirt in a drawer, and return to the living room. Not trusting himself to go any closer, Brian lobbed the clean T-shirt towards Chris from a few feet away. Chris caught it deftly in one hand, and tossed the dirty one back with the other. Brian grabbed it, promptly dropped it, and had to stoop to pick it up.

Chris grinned and pulled on the clean shirt. He still looked great with the fresh white cotton falling over his body.

"Thanks. See you later, alright?"

No sooner was Chris out the front door then Brian locked it shut, leaned back against it, and sank to the floor. He clasped the dirty T-shirt to his face while undoing his fly, and breathed in Chris's scent, slight sweat mingled with soap, as he jerked himself off with a ferocious urgency.

How the fuck had this happened? He'd thought he could keep a distance, just be friendly. But the guy was just way too hot to keep that up.

* * *

  
That evening they were back at the club, Brian sitting on his usual stool, Chris tending the bar and coming to sit across from Brian whenever he had time. They exchanged easy conversation and Chris wondered if Brian might hang around for dinner... but no, Brian murmured a goodbye and got up and left just before six.

No sooner had he left, then a large man appeared from a dark corner of the room. Chris was immediately delighted; it was Linus.

"Welcome back!" He came out from behind the bar, and they exchanged warm handshakes and claps on the back.

"Good to be back, my dear Chris," Linus exclaimed. "It's been far too long, there's no place like home."

"How's Raul?" Chris asked, keen to check quickly that Raul was in fact back too.

"He's at home asleep, the poor darling has a bad case of jet lag," Linus said solemnly.

Chris nodded, pleased to know that Raul was still in Linus's life. Linus and Raul had been together for a long time now, but Chris was still apt to think that someday Raul would vanish and Linus would adopt a new stray cat. In eight years, it hadn't happened yet. New stray cats did periodically get adopted but they were transient, while Raul was permanent.

"So, what have I missed the last few months?" Linus settled himself comfortably on a bar stool. "What happened to Matt?"

"Shit, that all seems like a long time ago," Chris laughed. When Linus had departed for Australia, Chris had been thinking he would spend the rest of his life with Matt, civil union perhaps, been on the verge of changing his will. It was like another world. "House put the kibosh on all that."

Chris spent a lot of time telling Linus what happened with House and Wilson, and the demise of the relationship with Matt, who House had exposed as a money-grabbing gold-digger. Linus was clearly enthralled and didn't say, "I knew he was no good," about Matt more than once. Maybe twice.

"You never liked him. You were right," Chris acknowledged.

Linus shrugged a little. "All water under the bridge now, but I never trusted him, especially with Raul."

Chris raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Raul?"

Linus drummed his fingers on the bar and looked at the ceiling. "Many moons ago when you were newly going out and all starry-eyed, Raul blew Matt a couple of times, you'll remember." Chris nodded; he did recall one such occasion at a party. "Now, you know I would never stop Raul doing anything he wanted to do. But the dear boy, bless him, realized I didn't like Matt so he declined to do it again." Chris nodded again, he'd figured this out.

"Only to find Matt didn't want to take no for an answer," Linus concluded.

Chris stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, Chris, we were all at someone's party one night when I came into the kitchen and found Matt-The-Grabber with his tongue in Raul's ear and trying to get a hand down Raul's pants. And Raul trying to say _no no no,_ while being too polite to tell him to go fuck himself." Linus rarely looked as serious as he did now. "I told Matt if he ever tried that again, I would ruin him."

Chris was genuinely chilled by Linus's voice. Linus was always so good-natured, almost never got angry. "I had no idea! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Chris, you are so rarely happy, there seemed no reason to worry you. And I would like to think that after that, he never dared lay a finger on Raul again." Linus sighed. "But I rather fear he still tried it when neither you or I was around. I told myself that Raul can look after himself. So much for that," Linus clapped his hands: end of subject. "Now, tell me all about the new man."

"What new man?" Chris was caught off-balance.

"The guy at the bar you've been flirting away with."

Chris wondered how long Linus had been sitting in the corner watching before Brian left. "Brian? Oh, he's just a friend." Chris spoke with as much nonchalance as he could muster.

Linus shook his head firmly. "You like him. You must, or you wouldn't have hit on him. But he turned you down?"

Chris mentally groaned. It really shouldn't have surprised him that Linus had _already _caught up on the gossip, despite only having been back home two minutes. Of course, every man jack in the club would have seen him take Brian upstairs, out back, and then Brian emerging swiftly and leaving after only a couple of minutes.

"Yeah, because he said he wanted to be friends." Chris couldn't bear to repeat the _notch on the casting couch_ comment.

"Right." Linus nodded, then went on with unusual bluntness, "I'm just a bit surprised you tried in the first place… He looks like 'a rag, a bone, and a hank of hair.' Not your usual type."

Chris knew exactly what Linus meant. Brian had brown hair and glasses, but that was as far as any resemblance to Edward went. Brian was older, taller, gangly, awkward, had facial hair. Even with the improved beard and new glasses he wasn't as conventionally attractive as Edward, not by any means. _And yet…_ he was hot. Chris couldn't quite put his finger on why, and wasn't surprised Linus couldn't see it.

"He's interesting," Chris opted to say in the end. "You'll like him if you try and get to know him."

"I will, Chris, I will," Linus returned.

Chris thought about how taciturn Brian was with strangers, what a struggle it had been to even strike up a conversation initially. He just hoped that Linus didn't take offense if Brian did his hi and goodbye thing.

* * *

  
Brian was sitting at the bar as usual the next afternoon when a party of twelve walked in, needing beer. Chris was immediately caught up in a small whirlwind of activity. Brian sat back, sipping his own beer and humming tunelessly to himself, when a large man in a Hawaiian shirt plumped himself down in the seat next to him.

"Oh dear," the man remarked, looking at the crowd around the bar. "If I were a better best friend, I'd help Chris out."

Enlightenment. "Are you Linus?" Brian asked.

"That's me."

The best friend was back. Brian sat back on his stool, pondering the situation. "He talks about you all the time, I think he's missed you."

"And you are?" Linus asked.

"Nobody. Just a stool jockey." Brian slid off the bar stool and walked out of the club.

Linus followed. Outside the door Brian turned and said in a droll tone, "Thanks, but no thanks," and offered to shake Linus's hand.

Linus grinned, then shook Brian's hand and said, "If I'd wanted to fuck you I'd have asked. You seem to be his friend?"

Brain hesitated, and the opportunity to find out more about Chris overcame his natural inclination to flee. "He's got a lot of friends, but he always seems to be the lonely one in the room."

Linus stood very still for a few seconds. Brian wondered if this observation had been too much, and started to go on, "I guess now you're back he'll be different--"

"No, no, Brian, it's not me he's missing." Linus fished a set of car keys out of a pocket. "If you can spare some time, perhaps you'd take a ride with me? And don't worry, I'm not going to start putting my hand on your knee."

* * *

  
They drove some way, and Brian adopted the tactic he'd learned at an early age for coping with shyness when meeting someone for the first time; asking the other person all about themselves and therefore avoiding having to talk about himself. Linus was chatty and only too happy to talk about himself, his darling Raul, and their lengthy recent trip.

Some half an hour later, they arrived at a parking lot outside a large garden. Brian got out of the car and looked at the sign: a memorial garden. Hmm. He started to get an inkling of why they had come all this way.

Linus greeted the man on the gate by name, exchanging a few friendly words, then led the way inside. They walked past green lawns and manicured bushes, neat ponds and pretty flowers, to a far corner which was a little wilder than most of the rest of the garden. Linus stopped by a small but perfectly formed tree with a plaque: Brian peered at it._ In memory of Edward._

"Chris and Edward were meant to be together," Linus intoned, as if sliding into a well-worn and somber story. "They were yin and yang, soulmates, gorgeous together. Chris hasn't mentioned him to you?"

"No," said Brian, slowly, thinking this through. "I know what he looked like, though." Linus looked surprised, and Brian went on, "Dark brown hair, brown eyes, slim, younger, shorter, wore glasses perhaps?"

"Very perceptive," Linus said in a tone of admiration. "Of course, you've noticed Chris has a… _type_."

Brian nodded. "What happened to Edward?"

"He died in a motorcycle accident, more than ten years ago." Linus was grave. "He was riding pillion behind Chris. A car came out of a side road illegally, Chris braked to avoid crashing, Edward fell off and got hit by a truck. Nothing Chris could have done, not that he believes that, of course."

Fucking hell. Poor Edward, but... what a tragedy for Chris. Brian could hardly begin to comprehend.

"We scattered Edward's ashes under this tree when we planted it." Linus put a hand out to touch the trunk. "And although it took me a while to realize it, we buried part of Chris here too."

Linus chattered for a while longer about Edward, describing him as creative, warm, funny, absent-minded, utterly irresistibly adorable and completely fuckable. Brian swiftly cottoned on that Linus had not only loved Edward too, but had, pretty obviously, been in the habit of having sex with him.

Brian supposed this shouldn't really have been surprising, knowing Chris, but somehow it was. Linus was clear that Edward had been _the_ one for Chris—love at first sight, inseparable, living together in harmony for ten years ("Well, except for Edward's wife, but we won't talk about that"), as legally committed as they could be in the age before civil unions… And yet, apparently none of this precluded sexual relationships with other men. Brian found it odd.

* * *

  
The next day, Brian arrived at the bar at his usual time and found Linus there again. It was jarring, having someone else around all of a sudden, but it seemed if he wanted to keep visiting Chris at the club, there was nothing he could do about it.

Brian started off taciturn, but found almost against his will that he instinctively liked Linus. No insults, no put downs, just trying to make sense of him. He took some pleasure in surprising Linus repeatedly, especially when Linus found out he had been helping Chris repair Jerry Kasinsky's parents' roof. "You got Chris up repairing a _roof_? I hope there are pictures, I haven't seen that in a long time."

Brian was semi-curious about what kind of man Linus would have as a boyfriend, and a couple of days later, his curiosity was satisfied. Linus arrived at the club to announce that Raul was over a cold he had caught on the plane journey back, and would be joining them shortly.

"And here he is," Linus exclaimed a few minutes later, and Brian couldn't help but gawk for a few seconds at the very beautiful man who'd just come in the door. Slight of figure but with great biceps, treading carefully like a cat, Raul had perfect olive skin, black hair and bushbaby eyes.

He slid onto the stool next to Linus, and Brian wondered what the age gap was. Raul couldn't be much more than twenty-five, surely, maybe less… Brian wasn't sure about Linus, but his guess was around fifty.

Linus was a lucky guy. Or maybe, Brian mused, glimpsing a look of total devotion on Raul's face, it's Raul who's fallen on his feet here.

Raul smiled shyly and said hello, and as they talked Brian discovered to his amazement that Linus and Raul had been together eight years. Fucking hell! Raul must have been total jailbait at the start.

A little later Chris returned from sorting out some problem in the storeroom out back, and hailed Raul with delight, clearly not having seen him since the return from abroad.

"Raul!" Chris greeted him, and Raul sprang to his feet to be enveloped in a warm hug. Brian watched surreptitiously as Chris kissed Raul right on the lips, with a definite flicker of tongues, and Linus didn't blink an eyelid.

This sharing, Brian mused, clearly went both ways. He'd never done that kind of thing except with complete strangers. He wondered how he'd cope if it had been with Ethan. He couldn't quite imagine it.

* * *

  
Chris, for his part, watched Brian and Linus getting to know each other with some pleasure and some apprehension. Something about Linus made Brian relax. Chris could see they got on well almost from the start, which was great, but... he also knew that Linus didn't get exactly what had Chris so obsessed.

Brian got on with Raul, too, which was a bonus. Not that there was much to dislike about Raul, but most people just saw Raul as Linus's pretty boy and treated him accordingly. By contrast, Brian spoke to Raul as a person in his own right, took the trouble to converse with him on his own.

"Raul told me last night about how he came to the US," Brian said to Chris one day, wide-eyed. "Did you know?"

Chris had heard the story, although a long time ago, and (Chris realized guiltily) from Linus, not from Raul himself. "Uh, yeah. Leaking boat from Cuba, right?"

"Yeah. With ten other men on a boat that should only have held six, hardly any food, storms, sharks, sunburn, seasickness. God knows how he survived." Brian shook his head.

_By being the bottom boy for the rest of the boat,_ Linus had surmised, and Chris decided not to mention that. Instead he reflected on how the skinny scared young boy who had appeared in Linus's life all those years ago had grown into a quiet but confident handsome young man. "Linus always says that Raul's stronger than he looks. He's been a rock to Linus, very supportive... you know Linus had cancer?"

"No." Brian was pop-eyed. "It's not the sort of thing to come up in casual conversation."

"Prostate cancer. He's in remission now, has been for a while." Chris told Brian how Raul had overcome a fear of hospitals and medicine to devotedly nurse Linus through not one but two bouts of radiotherapy during the past eight years.

It was Brian's interest in Raul that reminded Chris what Linus had told him about Matt and Raul. Chris waited until he and Raul were alone one evening and said, "Raul, you know I broke up with Matt."

Raul nodded solemnly. "I am sorry you are alone without him, but I am not sorry he is gone."

"Linus told me you had some...trouble with him?"

A moue of distress flitted across Raul's beautiful face. "No, no trouble, Chris. Nothing I could not handle." Chris was unconvinced, and Raul obviously saw this. Raul hesitated, then went on, "Do you remember when he had to go to the hospital with a...groin injury?"

"Yeah." Chris was surprised. He'd been away for a few days with Linus, some kind of business seminar. He remembered coming back to find Matt in the ER. "He hurt himself handling one of the boats in the dock--"

"No, he didn't, Chris," Raul said gravely. "He hurt himself handling me."

"Oh!" Chris remembered what Linus had said; _Raul can look after himself._ "Um... well, I'm glad you did it. But I wish you'd told me."

"Chris, you liked him a lot, I could not break your heart." Raul spoke with such sincerity that Chris felt a lump in his throat.

* * *

  
Chris could pinpoint the exact moment when Linus _got _Brian. They were in the upstairs bar late one evening, Brian said something, Chris didn't even hear what, but he saw Linus's eyes shine in sudden admiration, and knew in a flash that Linus had just understood the attraction of this skinny geeky guy with the bony face.

Linus replied, and whatever he said cracked Brian up. First the grin, then the laugh. Chris watched as Linus laughed back.

A few minutes later Chris slid up behind Linus and muttered in his ear, "Hands off."

"What?" Linus feigned ignorance.

"I saw that look. You want to fuck him."

"My dear Chris," Linus said with mock severity. "As if I'd contemplate such a thing without asking you first. Anyway, I was actually thinking I'd like to see Raul fuck him."

This was a new thought to Chris, who gulped a little. They both looked at Raul, leaning on a counter, smiling and laughing. His ass was jutting out and Chris and Linus both breathed a simultaneous sigh.

"Let's save that thought for future consideration, shall we?" said Linus, a little husky suddenly, and Chris nodded dumbly.

"And anyway," Linus added. "You need to jump our darling Brian first, I think."

Chris stuck his hands in his pockets. "I tried that before--"

"The past is another country, Chris, and things were different then." Linus cast another look at Brian.

"Look, he's not interested in a casual fuck," Chris blurted out. "If we got together, we really _would _be together and... does he actually want that? I've got no fucking idea. Do I want that? I don't understand the guy half the time--he's not the type I usually go for--"

"Which is exactly why he's so interesting, Chris. And what's the harm in going for a new type?" Linus's eyes were shrewd. "He hides his feelings because he's shy. He's in love with you."

"Fuck off." Chris really didn't believe this.

"You could ask him to cut his arm off for you, Chris, and he would." Linus beamed suddenly. "Bring him to Brandon's birthday dinner next week. I _dare _you."

* * *

  
Chris deliberately didn't ask Brian until the night before, thinking he shouldn't give Brian much time to dwell on it.

"I won't be around tomorrow evening, it's Brandon's birthday, the big four-O," Chris explained. "Him and Tony are going away, but not until the weekend. So we're having a bit of a party, treating him to a big fancy meal at the steakhouse."

"Have a good time." Brian sipped coffee.

"I was wondering if you'd like to come too," Chris said diffidently.

Brian spluttered a little, and put the cup down. He looked at Chris, apparently trying to gauge if he was serious. Chris looked back earnestly.

"I don't know them," Brian prevaricated.

"Doesn't matter," Chris was prompt. "And you know Linus, and Raul. They'll be there."

Brian shook his head. "Your friend Brandon isn't gonna want some stranger at his birthday party. For a dinner, too--an extra person--"

"Linus is paying for the alcohol and I'm covering the food, it's our birthday treat for Brandon," Chris was swift to explain. "Anyway, I _want _you to come, okay? You don't need to talk to anyone except me."

Brian looked like he might flee from the room, but then he spoke slowly. "I could bake a cake."

Chris's spirits soared.

* * *

  
Brian had never been to the steakhouse before. Chris picked Brian up from his apartment and drove them there, anxious not to give Brian any chance to get lost on the way. They arrived a little late.

"Happy Birthday!" Chris came striding through to the steakhouse's private room, threw an arm around Brandon and greeted him with a kiss on the lips. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Brian's eyes on him.

He joined the group, dropping gracefully into a seat, and slid effortlessly into the conversation. Brian settled down next to him. Plates of oozing steaks and crisp fries arrived, and drink flowed freely, including some very decent wine (Linus's selection, impeccable as ever).

At some point Chris curled a hand casually around the back of Brian's chair, and found that Brian leaned back into it. Chris kept his hand there, and a bit later brushed the back of Brian's neck with his knuckles. Brian moved his head slightly, letting Chris's hand touch his hair.

_Finally_. Chris inched his chair a little closer and nudged Brian's thigh ever so slightly with his knee. Brian didn't look at him, and Chris thought he could see Brian's cheeks going a little pink, but he didn't move away. Chris kept his leg where it was, and through the rest of the meal felt an erection gradually grow.

Their flirting wasn't lost on Linus, who was sitting directly opposite Chris. He didn't say anything, but smirked at Chris periodically. In fact Chris was sure the whole table was ultra-aware of what was happening, but nobody said a word, for which Chris was grateful. He still wasn't entirely sure that Brian might just not back off and run away at the end of the evening.

Dinner over, they all sat for a while drinking port and setting the world to rights. Brian was busy not talking very much but listening to Tony, who was sitting on his other side complimenting him on the lemon sponge cake. Chris noticed Raul speaking in an undertone to Linus; telling him not to overdo things, Chris was sure. Linus rolled his eyes, but took the advice and leaned forward.

"It's been a most enjoyable evening, Brandon, without wishing to wish our lives away, we should all celebrate birthdays more often. I need to get some sleep now, though I'm sure the rest of you youngsters will want to party on..."

It was the cue for them all to get up to go; Brandon and Tony saying they would head off to a club, most of the others agreeing to go with them. As they all headed out to the parking lot, Chris hung back a little, waiting for a vibe from Brian.

"You going on to the club?" Brian asked, hands in his pockets.

"Nah," Chris said, hoping this was the right answer. He stopped walking and turned to face Brian. "I was hoping..."

And then Brian was standing really very close to him, he could feel Brian's breath on his face, smell the shower gel he'd used in Brian's bathroom that time. He thought idiosyncratically that he'd never noticed Brian was as tall as he was before. And then, _then_, they were kissing.

Oh God, they were kissing and Chris never wanted this to stop. Brian's lips were gentle and moist and Chris felt his own mouth as dry by comparison; he licked his lips and then found Brian's tongue licking for him. He felt Brian's hand on his arm, and reached out to grasp Brian by the shoulder. He pulled Brian close to him; Chris could feel the warmth of Brian's body through layers of clothing, he drew Brian even closer--

"Get a room already!" came a shout from the distance; Chris broke away to glance across at Linus, on the other side of the parking lot. He moved a hand away from Brian long enough to wave, then put it back quickly.

"Come back to my place," Chris said quietly, and Brian nodded.

* * *

  
They fell into each other in Chris's hallway, the front door barely closed behind them. Mouths locked, hands desperate, groping. Chris pulled Brian as close to him as he possibly could, hugging long legs and bulging groin up against his own. Brian passed a hand down between them, across Chris's crotch, and Chris almost came on the spot.

Fuck, he had to make this last a bit longer! Chris grabbed Brian by the hand and propelled him through to the bedroom.

Inside, Brian reached up and twitched the spectacles off his nose, setting them down on the nightstand, and at this most unexpected echo of something Edward had used to do many years ago, Chris temporarily froze. Brian saw the hesitation but didn't pause, he simply turned and slid a hand inside Chris's shirt.

At the sensation of fingertips sliding across his chest, grazing nipples, Chris gasped and lunged at Brian again, landing heavy hungry kisses across his face, tasting hair and sweat. He clasped Brian's head between his hands, caressing, tracing the stubble along Brian's jawline.

They both stripped quickly, and Chris yanked Brian down onto the bed, the two of them pressing up against each other. Brian's cock was long and hard, and the feeling of it skating alongside Chris's own made Chris choke for breath and clutch hard at Brian's arm, digging blunt fingernails in deep enough to leave marks, as Brian arched and bit at Chris's throat. Shockwaves ran straight from Chris's neck to his crotch, and he pulsated and came, hard and fast, spurting up against Brian's stomach. Brian groaned and followed a few seconds later.

"You're not just another notch on the casting couch," Chris mumbled into Brian's chest as they lay together in a stupor. He felt Brian nod his head.


	3. Baggage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In between bouts of teh hawt secks, Chris and Brian realize they still have a lot to learn about each other. Ethan shows up.

The morning after the night before, Chris woke to find empty space in the bed next to him. A small kernel of worry made itself known in his stomach. He remembered how Brian would just up and leave the bar if the slightest bit of discomfort threatened. He got up and padded through the house.

In the kitchen, he spotted Brian through the window; some way down the beach, perched on a large flat rock. Chris stared out for a moment; he'd spent a lot of time sitting on that rock in his life. Partly because it was a very convenient seat which gave a good view of the sea. Also because it was where he and Edward had kissed for the first time.

Putting the latter from his mind, Chris pulled on some clothes, stepped into sneakers, and headed outside. It was a lovely morning, a bit chilly but the sun was out and high in the sky. As he approached Brian, he heard a noise gradually getting louder._ "Oh what a beautiful morning, Oh what a beautiful day..."_

Chris didn't quite want to dignify it with the word _singing_, but supposed that it must be. And he wasn't at all musical himself, but Brian's singing voice sounded like someone had stepped on a bull frog.

He arrived at the rock a little cautiously, but Brian turned and smiled, green eyes glinting in the sun, and Chris was emboldened enough to kiss him. Stubble and his own toothpaste greeted him.

"Ground rules. No singing before midday," Chris said. "Or midnight."

Brian grinned widely, and simply observed, "The sky has never been so blue."

"Come back to bed," Chris said, gruff, and Brian slid off the rock.

Back in the bedroom, they shed clothes and sprawled on the bed, Chris on his back, Brian on top, Chris relishing the warmth and weight of Brian's body above him. Then Brian wriggled down the bed and took Chris in his mouth. It took no more than a couple of licks for Chris to realize that Brian had blow jobs down to a fine art form.

For the next twenty minutes Brian had Chris panting, begging, swearing, brought to the brink of climax before Brian pulled back. Eventually after a shout of, "Brian, you FUCKING BASTARD--!" Brian let Chris come, taking it in his mouth as Chris spasmed in agonized pleasure, the delayed gratification greatly accentuating the high. Chris collapsed backward onto the bed, weak as a kitten.

Brian spat deftly, scrambled up next to him, and muttered, "You're welcome. Now--" Brian's hand was on his own cock; Chris reached out and wrapped a feeble fist around. Brian was already very close and a couple of swift jerks was all it took.

 

* * *

  
When Chris next woke, Brian was next to him, facing away, a strand of sweaty hair plastered across the back of his neck. Chris slung an arm around Brian's warm, naked body, pulling him close, relishing..._snuggling _with someone. It had been a long time since he'd done that with anyone he cared about.

After a while he felt a hard-on returning. _Whoa_. Apparently having Brian around had turned him into a horny teenager again. He pressed up against Brian's ass, grinding just a little. Brian lay still at first, then stirred, and pressed back. Chris reached up to caress Brian's hair, kissing his neck, and Brian moaned a little.

Wanting to reciprocate for the awesome blow job earlier, Chris inched down the bed and found Brian's cock semi-hard already. A few strokes of Brian's balls and the hard-on was full. Chris dipped his head and started to lick and suck, and before long Brian was writhing and whining and crazy with need, and muttering, _"Chris...Chris..."_ which Chris found most satisfying. Chris pulled back at the very last second before Brian groaned, "Ah, _Chris!_" and shot a load past his ear.

Chris hauled himself up the bed again and whispered in Brian's ear, "Mind if I fuck you?" He knew he couldn't read Brian properly, not yet anyhow, and didn't want to assume anything.

"Do it," Brian murmured back, his voice slurred.

Chris pressed his groin up against Brian's ass, and spent a few minutes building up his own erection again. He eased two lubed fingers up Brian's ass, and Brian uttered a sound rather like a squeak.

Then Chris brushed Brian's prostate, and Brian twisted round and arced right up off the bed, smacking Chris with his knee right across the nose.

"Fuck!" Chris reeled backward, blood pouring from his nose in an alarming quantity. Brian fell off the bed and went running to the kitchen for ice and a towel, and Chris lay on his back and started to laugh. Belly deep laughing that he hadn't done in a very long time.

* * *

  
They spent the next week in bed at Chris's house.

After the fiasco of the first attempt, Chris more than got his wish to ass-fuck Brian; the second attempt was so very successful that they spent most of the week recreating it. Once Chris found himself buried deep inside Brian, Brian naked and beautiful, tight and hot and sweating underneath, Chris did not want to let the moment end; he drew it out as long as he could, while green eyes sparked and strained beneath him until they both collapsed together in mutual, furious delight.

When they weren't in bed, they did other things together; they showered, cooked, ate, watched TV. Chris dutifully departed each day to do his bar shift at the club, but Brian opted not to come. Chris left promptly at the end of each stint, keen to get back home to Brian, who spent the time experimenting in Chris's kitchen and serving up the results for dinner.

In between a very thorough exploration of each others' bodies, successive events showed Chris how little he knew about Brian, and vice versa. On the second day Chris agreed to drop Brian off at his own place during his bar shift, so Brian could pick up some clothes and toiletries. Chris came outside to find Brian admiring the Harley in the garage.

"Hey, let's take the bike instead of the car," Brian urged. "I haven't been on a motorcycle for years--"

"I don't carry passengers," Chris said flatly.

Brian looked like a kicked puppy. "What? But it would be fun--"

"I don't fucking well carry passengers!" Chris snapped, much too loudly, and Brian shut up like a clam. Chris stalked off to the car, Brian got in the passenger side, and they drove off in silence.

Chris knew he'd over-reacted, but really didn't want to explain. He was afraid Brian was going to ask why--Matt had pursued such idiosyncrasies like a dog, but halfway there, Brian spoke and Chris's fears were allayed.

"Well, if you're not going to ride the bike when I'm around, at least wear the leather pants for me," Brian said, and Chris smiled, and then laughed.

He wore the leather pants that evening, and took great pleasure in Brian peeling them off him.

* * *

  
On day three, Chris got back to find Brian sitting in the bathroom, staring at the sink and frowning. "Your tap was dripping, I thought I'd try and fix it."

Chris looked at the tap. There had been a very small intermittent drip, he recalled. It had now become a regular drip.

"You got a wrench somewhere? I'll have another go tomorrow," said Brian. Chris nodded a trifle doubtfully.

The next day, Chris arrived back to find the drip was now so steady as to be a positive flow.

"Your wrench's not up to the job," Brian reported. "But I think I stopped it from getting worse."

Chris really didn't think so, but Brian was so optimistic Chris didn't quite have the heart to criticize.

"I've got a wrench somewhere in my apartment, I'll go get it tomorrow," Brian said, and now Chris had a vision of coming back next time to find the house completely flooded.

The following day he took Brian back to his apartment, went on to the club, and surreptitiously called a plumber he knew to do an emergency job. They arrived back that evening to find the plumber had come and gone without leaving a trace; the sink was mercifully drip-free, and Brian beamed.

"I thought I'd fixed it! There must have just been some overflow in the pipe that had to come out."

Chris nodded mutely, and resolved not to let Brian do any more DIY in future than absolutely necessary.

* * *

  
On day four, Chris was tending the bar, when in walked the young mouthy blond and his older dark-haired boyfriend who Chris had enjoyed fucking not long ago.

"Hey, Chris." The blond leaned on the counter and winked. "We wondered if you'd like to come home with us tonight. We've got a new toy you might enjoy."

A week before Chris would have agreed like a shot. Now... "Uh, thanks, but... I can't. I've just started seeing someone."

"He hot? Bring him along too," said the blond. "The more the merrier."

"I kinda want him all to myself right now," Chris explained, and thought, _and I don't know if he'd be interested in this anyway..._

The blond shrugged. "Let us know when you're willing to share."

Chris spent most of the next hour wondering what the new toy was, and thinking about the cock ring he had buried in a drawer somewhere. Once home, he jumped Brian as soon as he walked in the door with kisses and suggestions. Brian was surprised but only too pleased to experiment.

* * *

  
On the fifth day Brian had to go work a shift at some little job he'd found himself, helping out in one of the local mom-and-pop shops. Chris dropped Brian off at his apartment, and when he returned later, Brian hadn't yet come home.

"Pussykins got out," was Brian's explanation on the phone when Chris called his cell. "Mrs Bonfiglio's cat. She's fretting, I've been wandering the streets for the last hour with a can opener and a can of tuna... could you come and help?"

And so Chris found himself peering down side alleys, waving tuna and shouting _Pussykins!_ It wasn't that Chris minded helping, but he had no idea how on earth he had gotten into this situation. Mrs Bonfiglio was eighty years old and couldn't have been further removed from the demographic of Chris's own friends. He really didn't understand this affiliation Brian seemed to have with elderly people.

They returned to Mrs Bonfiglio's house half an hour later to find Pussykins had returned of her own accord. Mrs Bonfiglio thanked them both profusely anyway, and sent them away with a baggie of home-made cookies.

Chris overheard her say to Brian when she thought Chris was out of earshot, "And how nice to meet your Chris, what a lovely boy he is!"

"Do these elderly fans of yours have any idea about us?" Chris asked in some bewilderment as they got back into the car. "Are they not... uncomfortable about it?"

"I don't think they'd want details, but I don't think they care," Brian offered. "Like the Kosinskys are very proud of Jerry."

"Yeah, well, they've never seen Jai at a Boots Only Night," Chris turned on the engine.

"Christ, I went to one of those once in New York," Brian marveled. "I didn't quite have the nerve to go naked though, so I wore a jockstrap."

"Yeah?" Chris liked the sound of that. "Tell me more."

They didn't make it back to Chris's house; Chris pulled over halfway in a quiet alley, and Brian jerked him off in the back of the car.

* * *

  
Chris returned on the sixth day to find a superb-smelling lasagna in the oven, and Brian bustling around with oven gloves and salad bowls, handing him a glass of wine and waving him to sit in the living room. Chris was relaxing there ten minutes later when Brian joined him, and greeted him with a kiss and a confession.

"I broke a wine glass earlier, sorry." Brian was apologetic. "I cleared it up."

"Don't worry about it," Chris said automatically, but his eyes flicked up to the framed photograph on the top shelf of the bookcase. He remembered an occasion very early in his relationship with Edward, when Edward had broken not one but two wine glasses, one right after the other. Edward had always been on the clumsy side... often not concentrating on what he was doing, focused on some building or the other than he was designing...one of his cute little flaws...

"Chris?" Brian's voice intruded into Chris's head. Chris's train of thought switched track, thinking that Brian also seemed to be easily distracted, but in a different way to Edward. Not so much because of creativity as a scatter-gun mind, affectionate but absent-minded, combined with a tenacity--

Brian cut in again, and Chris was spooked as Brian had apparently tuned right into his thoughts. "That's a beautiful photograph. Edward, right?"

The photo was indeed Edward, the only picture of Edward Chris had on display. Chris knew he had never mentioned Edward to Brian; Chris never talked about Edward to anyone except Linus occasionally. Linus must have filled Brian in.

"Yeah," Chris said shortly, and he could tell Brian was waiting for him to go on, but Chris didn't want to say any more.

Brian waited a bit longer, then obviously decided it would be no good to push. "Lasanga'll be ready in a minute. Hungry?"

Chris did his best to flip Edward out of his mind, but he'd lost the mood. Fortunately Brian didn't press him about it; they snuggled in bed that night, cozy and intimate without having sex. After all the fucking over the previous week, Chris suspected that Brian was glad of a break too.

* * *

  
After that, they ventured out together into the wider world. The immediate impetus was Jai Ray, back on a visit to his parents, a gang of friends accumulating at the club to welcome him back. Jai seized on Chris and Brian the instant they walked in.

"It's Chris the roofer! And you must be Brian. My parents have basically adopted you." Jai shook a finger in Brian's face with mock outrage. "But lo, the Prodigal Son has returned!"

Brian laughed a bit and said diffidently, "Well of course the Prodigal Son was the one they really wanted."

"Very true!" Jai declared. "The son who stayed home and mended the roof was basically taken for granted, wasn't he?"

At that moment Chris was hailed across the room by a large man in a Hawaiian shirt, and left Brian to chat to Jai.

"So," Linus said expectantly. "I'm guessing from your sickeningly sated expression that you've had Brian pinned to your bed for the last week with your dick."

"Maybe." Chris was airy.

"What a wonderful couple you make. You must both come over to dinner sometime," Linus declared.

Chris was immediately suspicious. "Oh yeah? For _dinner_?"

"What else?" Linus assumed an innocent face.

"Don't you dare fucking scare him away," Chris stabbed a finger in Linus's direction.

"As if! Oh, alright, I'll take a rain-check." Linus sighed loudly and changed the subject. "Chris, I've found it tough working since I got back from Down Under. I'm thinking about retiring."

Chris froze. "Really?"

"Maybe not from everything, but I could cut back on the ol' business. Spend more time with my beautiful Raul, he does so hate me going off to meetings all the time." Linus thought aloud. "Also, Ziggy can collect his full police pension starting next year, you know. He tells me he'll need someone to play golf with all day."

"And poker all night." Chris shuffled his feet. "You'd stay around here, then?"

"Oh, don't worry Chris, I'm far too attached to my monstrosity of a house and my amazingly loyal friends to move away." Linus was brisk and reassuring. "Also I'd like to stick around New Jersey so I can see Wilson when I have to, you know? This damn cancer is going to come back one day, I know it, and I'd like to have him there when it does."

Chris nodded soberly. Linus had fought off bouts of prostate cancer twice now. Radiotherapy had worked in the past, but Wilson had warned that next time it would probably have to be surgery. Linus shuddered at the idea of going under the knife, and Raul practically burst into tears if the idea was mooted.

Brian joined them at that moment, and Linus stopped talking about retirement and cancer. "Brian, darling, I am so glad to see you two together! I was just telling Chris you must come over for dinner some time..."

As the evening went on, Chris found that Brian was happy to talk to Linus, Raul and Jai, but shied away from socializing with other friends of Chris. At one point he pretty much ignored a friendly approach from Brandon.

"Your new guy isn't very friendly, is he?" Brandon said to Chris, clearly hurt.

"He's a bit shy," Chris tried to make excuses. "He doesn't find it easy to meet new people. You guys can be a bit intimidating, you know."

Brandon shook his head. "He's standoffish. Rude. He wouldn't talk to Tony at my birthday dinner, either."

"I don't always get him," Chris admitted.

"Look, Chris, we've got a new motel clerk I think you might like," Brandon switched tack. "Dark hair, very cute, single and definitely open to offers. Why don't you drop by tomorrow and meet him?"

"Thanks, but no thanks."

Brandon shrugged. "If you say so." Beat. "He must be a damn good fuck, that's all I can say."

Chris could not resist. "You bet he is."

* * *

  
Things carried on very nicely for a while after that. They spent some time out together, seeing movies, playing golf, shopping, eating out. They stayed at Brian's apartment instead of Chris's house a couple of times, and Chris continued to bat away periodic invitations to dinner from Linus.

Chris was aware that his own baggage was an unresolved issue, and he got a first real indication that Brian too had baggage one night when Chris was doing his shift at the bar. A guy walked in and ordered a coke. Chris served him without really noticing him, until the guy said, "Thanks. Hey, I'm looking for a guy called Brian. Dark hair, glasses, beard. I was told he might be here, have you seen him?"

Chris was immediately interested. Someone asking after _Brian_?... "I might have." Ultra-casual now. "You a friend of his?"

"Yeah." The man looked a little cagey, but this was explained by his next admission. "From New York. My name's Ethan."

_Ethan_! The ex! The guy who had dumped Brian. Chris looked at him closely. Ethan was maybe a year or so older than Brian, and tall, taller than Chris. He had bleached blond hair with dark roots, down to his shoulders, and a slightly sulky pout. He wasn't Chris's type at all, but...Chris could see he was attractive. Hmph.

Chris barely had a jealous bone in his body, but meeting the ex immediately riled him. He could readily understand Brian finding this guy attractive, wanting to fuck him...or be fucked by him. Brian hadn't said much about Ethan, other than that he was a cheating bastard chef, but Chris had gathered from Brian's preferences in bed that Ethan had definitely been the top in their relationship.

Chris briefly considered throwing Ethan out of his club, then decided he wanted to see Brian's reaction. It would be very satisfactory if Brian threw him out.

"Yeah, he's around--out in the back room, I think." Chris nodded in the direction.

"Thanks." Ethan nodded back, and headed off. Chris waited with anticipation.

* * *

  
Brian was not pleased to see this blast from the past. "Why are you here?"

"I wanted to see you. Your sister gave me your apartment address, I drove down. Your next door neighbor, little old lady, said you'd be in here at this time." Ethan looked around. "Nice club. I expected a real dive."

"And?"

"I wanted to know that you're okay."

Yeah, right. "I'm fine, Ethan." Brian's flight instinct kicked in. "I have to go."

Brian ducked out of the room and headed outside. Ethan followed.

Later, Brian would realize that it was unfortunate that all Chris saw from across the bar was Brian leaving the club with Ethan.

In the parking lot, Brian wheeled around with a realization, and asked with a twinge of delight. "Chuck the Fuck chucked you?"

"It didn't work out, no." Ethan looked down at the asphalt, then back up at Brian with bright eyes. "I was thinking you'd probably had enough of a break out here in the sticks by now, would be ready for a bit of big city fun. So I've come down to drive you back, save you the bother."

Trust Ethan to make it seem like he was doing Brian a favor. "No," Brian said firmly. "You kicked me when I was down. I've moved on, and his name is Chris."

Ethan digested this. "You're seeing someone else?"

"Yeah. And I'm not coming back to New York."

Ethan blinked in surprise. "You're not coming back? But you've still got the apartment."

"Yeah, I'll do something about that. At some point." Brian grimaced: he didn't want to think about it. "Have a nice life, Ethan. I have to go."

* * *

  
Brian really had been intending to leave anyway. He had to go to one of the little jobs he filled some of his time with, helping out the Carys. Mr and Mrs Cary ran a small store, open twenty-four hours. It was their wedding anniversary and he'd promised to do an evening shift minding the shop, while they went out for dinner.

He arrived to find they'd started the celebration early, toasting each other while hanging out behind the shop counter. Fortunately it was quiet.

"Forty-five years and I ain't killed her yet," Mr Cary informed Brian, waving a cigar in the air.

"Nor she, you," Brian said, droll, accepting a glass of sherry.

Gus plucked a big cigar from the box on the counter and thrust it at Brian's face, swaying a little on his feet. Brian took it, put it in his mouth and said thanks; he didn't much like cigars, but he'd learned to deal with them as part of the social side in his law firm. Mr Cary insisted on snipping off the end and trying to light a blue tipped match off his shoe. Three matches later, just as the damn cigar lit, Brian's cell phone rang.

"Uh?" Brian answered indistinctly through a mouthful of cigar.

Chris's voice came through, sharp, upset. "Could you at least take the guy's dick out of your mouth long enough to talk to me?"

"What?" It took Brian a few seconds to compute what on earth Chris had said. Realization dawned. "You think--fuck off." Brian turned off his phone.

Gus was looking at him curiously. "Everything okay, son?"

Brian wondered if Gus could possibly have heard what Chris had said. He didn't think so. "Yup".

Apparently Gus was not fooled. "Belle, change the sheets in the spare room," Gus directed. "And Brian, just close up for the night and let the night shift know not to come in."

"Sheets in the spare room are always clean," Belle said, with mock offense.

Brian shook his head. "We stay open."

"Your call, son. Look at the time, Belle, we'd better go, we've got a reservation."

Brian stood at the door and watched as Gus and Belle wove their way out to their car. He then closed the store door and went back in to clean up the mess. Once it was tidy again and he was back behind the counter, he thought for a few minutes.

Chris should have known where he'd gone. Brian had told Chris that he was filling in at the Carys' store, but he thought that Chris hadn't been paying attention. Maybe because it wasn't (in Chris's opinion) a real job. Or maybe Chris had just forgotten all about it once Ethan had shown up.

Brian mused for a while more, then pulled out his cell and called Chris. When Chris answered, Brian said, "Houston, we have a problem".

"Where are you?" Chris asked, his voice tight.

"Same place I've been all evening."

"With Ethan?"

_Fuck _this. "No." Brian hung up and went back to minding the store.

When the night shift girl turned up at midnight, Brian went and knocked on the Carys' door and tried to hand off the bank bag. Belle gestured for him to come in and said, "Up the stairs, first door on the right is the bathroom, second door is your room. Go to bed. Don't poke your nose out that door till you smell the bacon."

Brian obeyed meekly; he always did as he was told where moms were concerned. The Carys' guest bedroom was immaculately clean and comfortable, but he didn't sleep well.

* * *

  
The following morning, Chris showed up. Brian was standing in the Carys' front yard looking at a hole in the fence that needed mending, when Chris pulled up in his car. Chris looked tired and unhappy. Brian felt like an asshole for staying away.

"You've been here all night?" Chris asked, looking up and down at the house. Brian nodded, and Chris shook his head. "You left with Ethan."

"No, I left, he followed me. I told him I wasn't coming back to New York and he should get lost, then I went to work." Brian took a deep breath. "You need a better grapevine, but I should have come and talked to you and fixed it."

Chris stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground. "He's fucking good-looking."

"And he knows it. I'm not interested in him any more," Brian said firmly. "He's the most self-centered bastard I've ever met. The world revolves around him and whatever the hell he wants. He was never faithful to me, he was always off having fun, and he dropped me like a sack of potatoes when he thought he finally had a better deal elsewhere. I'm not going to fall for that again."

"Brian, who is that woman, and why is she holding a baseball bat?" Chris was looking over Brian's shoulder. Brian looked around and saw Mrs Cary standing behind the screen door of her house.

"That's Mrs Cary, my boss," Brian explained. "I think she's waiting to see if you're going to hurt me."

Chris grinned. "What is it with you and old--"

"Hey!"

"Okay, you and mature women."

"I don't know, but if you kiss me right now she'll probably let you live."

"Well, I value my life." And Chris kissed the hell out of Brian right then. They both started laughing when they heard a door slam.

* * *

  
A couple of months later, things really were going rather well, and Linus reiterated the dinner invitation.

"Maybe we should go," Chris suggested when he and Brian were alone. He fiddled with a beer mat, creasing the edges.

Brian wasn't fooled for a minute. "You want me to join in with your sex parties, right?"

Chris dropped the beer mat and spread his hands out. "I don't know. I guess I'm trying to figure out if it's gonna make you run a mile. You say the word, we don't go. Ever."

Brian looked at Chris with some frustration. He knew Chris was sincere, but… it wasn't that simple. Fucking around with other people didn't quite go with the kind of loving committed relationship Brian would ideally have liked. But who was he kidding? Had he ever really had that, with Ethan even? Brian had just pretended not to know when Ethan had cheated on him, turned a blind eye on a few occasions, and Ethan had always come home... until the day he hadn't.

"I know it's not for everyone," Chris said, in the lull. "I really don't want you to freak out--"

"It's not that. I've… done that kind of thing before. It was hot but it screwed with my head. After Ethan dumped me I spent six months saying OK to anyone who hit on me." Brian took a deep breath. "Which happened quite… a lot."

He told Chris a little about what he'd done. He found Chris took it in his stride and was entirely non-judgmental.

"There's a difference between fucking people you met half an hour ago at a party and doing it with people you know," Chris eventually opined. "There's also a difference between doing it in a group when you're on your own, and when you're with someone. But... no pressure. Really."

Brian pictured Chris faced with one of his usual Edward-types; young and attractive with wide brown eyes and too-big glasses. Why not let him have what he wanted? Brian trusted Chris, and wanted to do stuff that he knew Chris was partial to. If that included other men…. he could give it a shot. If that meant fucking around with Linus and Raul… well, that didn't exactly sound like torture. Raul was fucking gorgeous, after all.

"Dinner it is," said Brian, at last. "I'd like to see Linus's house, anyway. Raul says he's got a 65 inch plasma TV?"

"Yeah," Chris confirmed, with a grin. "And once you've seen a 65 inch dick on it, no smaller screen will do."

* * *

  
Dinner was sumptuous and the wine flowed freely. Brian brought dessert (Mrs Cary's home-made banana cream pie) and they all gorged on it. Chris deliberately chatted mostly to Linus, leaving Brian with Raul, who seemed to be getting on very well indeed.

When they went through from the dining room to the living room after the meal, Brian and Raul sat down on the same long white leather couch. Raul ran a slender hand through Brian's hair, down the side of his face and tickled at his beard. Brian arched his neck under Raul's touch, and Raul bent forward, and then they were kissing. Once briefly, twice longer, and at the third they stuck to each other and didn't come apart.

"Showtime!" Linus said under his breath, and sat down on a chair nearby.

Chris sat down too, suddenly breathless at the sight of Brian and Raul smothering each other with noisy wet kisses, each _hmming _and _ahhing _and clearly turning each other on just as much as their viewing boyfriends.

Any concerns Chris had that Brian might be reluctant or feel forced into this were immediately allayed; Brian was into this, no doubt about it. He and Raul were pawing at each other with an energy close to desperation; hands under shirts, pulling at belts, yanking down pants. Raul got to Brian's cock first, taking it between both palms with an expert rolling motion, and Brian's resulting groan was loud and heartfelt.

Raul continued to work Brian, easing long lubed fingers up his ass while sucking and licking until Brian was panting and sweat forming beads on his brow. He then pulled back with a visible effort, and reached for Raul instead. At the sight of Brian taking Raul's cock into his mouth, Chris felt himself harden noticeably. He stripped off his own pants and boxers swiftly, thinking this wasn't going to last long; Linus was doing the same opposite. Raul was gasping and writhing, and suddenly Chris wanted some of this himself.

He groped in a pocket for a condom, rolled it on and lunged forward, grabbing Brian by the hips and pulling him away from Raul. Brian grunted in surprise, but let himself be flipped over on the floor, onto his back, legs splayed. He looked up at Chris, brown eyes glazed and begging, and Chris thrust inside and started to drill him as hard and fast as he possibly could.

Right next to them, Raul was on his elbows and knees, being fucked by Linus just as hard and fast. Raul leaned down and started to kiss Brian upside down, the two of them making out with tongues and lips licking and sucking like mad. It was so hot and frenzied and noisy that both Chris and Linus came fast and damn near simultaneously; Linus reaching around to jack off Raul, and Raul collapsing forward to bring off Brian.

The four of them lay in a stunned, panting heap for quite some time afterwards.

* * *

  
The next morning Brian woke in the guest room to find Chris wasn't there next to him. Thinking Chris had simply gotten up before him, he threw on some clothes and headed down to the kitchen, where Linus was sitting in a white fluffy bathrobe, drinking coffee and reading the paper.

"Chris around?" Brian asked, looking around the room then heading toward the coffee machine.

"Nope." Linus put down his mug. "His car's gone too, he must've left early."

Brian stood with a hand on the coffee machine, gaping in surprise--that Chris had vanished, and that Linus was being so calm about it.

"He does this sometimes, when something reminds him of Edward," Linus said laconically. "Scared the hell out of me the first time. Thought he'd gone and thrown himself off a cliff or something, but he always comes back. Sometimes he goes to the tree for an hour or so, other times he just drives off randomly and stays away a couple days. You get used to it."

_Oh, great. _Brian hit the button on the coffee machine with more than necessary force. So he had to get used to his boyfriend vanishing at the drop of a hat if anything reminded him of St. Edward. And what the hell had made him think of Edward, anyway? Just fucking great.

"Cut him some slack," Linus said, a note of warning in his voice.

"It's been what, nearly eleven years!" Brian couldn't help but say. "How much slack does he need?"

"He will _always _need some slack," Linus picked up his mug again.

Chris was back that evening, looking tired and lonely, and Brian didn't have the heart to pick a fight about it; he fed Chris apple pie instead and didn't say a word.

* * *

  
The following morning, Chris was sitting in the upstairs bar at the club trying to figure out his inventory. Someone sat down next to him, and that pissed him off till he looked and saw Linus.

"So, we all had a good time," Linus began. "Brian, Raul..."

"Yup," Chris agreed readily.

Chris and Linus stared at each other for a minute, then Chris knocked twice on the bar and the bartender was there. Chris said, "The bourbon."

The bartender set them up with shot glasses and the bottle. Linus took a sip and asked, "Elmer?"

Chris nodded; it was Elmer T. Lee's best of the best single barrel bourbon. "I bought when you said to buy."

Linus sipped a little more. "And why are we drinking such excellent bourbon here at 11 AM?"

"I think maybe we're worried that our boyfriends like each other too much," Chris suggested, mischievous now.

"Fucking hell!" Linus forgot about sipping and downed his glass like a shot. After a brief coughing fit, he said, "My dear Chris, what's really on your mind?"

Chris downed his own glass, then took a deep breath and got it out. "I dreamed about Edward afterwards. But when I woke up, I couldn't remember what he looked like."

As he spoke, Chris felt his chest go tight. Mere words could not convey the alarm, the panic, the blood suddenly racing through his veins, the abrupt inability to breathe. He'd found he could remember Edward in terms of touch and emotion and passion and presence, but had no idea what he looked like any more--the face a blank; the body soft and yielding but impersonal and devoid of identity.

Linus sucked in his breath. "Chris, just because you've fallen in love with Brian doesn't mean you're going to forget Edward."

"I haven't--I don't--" Chris couldn't get the words out. He poured fresh glasses with a shaking hand. "I--"

_I think I love him._ The words washed through Chris's brain and scared him shitless. Where had that come from?

"I'd say talk to him, but I'd be wasting my breath." Linus picked up his glass but didn't drink. "And since when did I become a fucking relationship counselor, anyway?"

That made Chris laugh, a welcome break of tension. "If you retire and get bored, you can retrain in a new career."

* * *

  
As Chris could not and would not talk about Edward to Brian, he was relieved that Brian seemed willing to let his sudden disappearance pass without comment.

Life went on, and one day Brian announced that he really should sublet his apartment in New York, and would Chris come help him clean it out?

"And I need to meet up with this guy from my old law firm, Damian," Brian added. "I told him I had a new boyfriend and he said he'd like to meet you, too."

"Sure." Chris hadn't realized Brian had mentioned him to anyone in his previous life, and felt pleased.

They headed up to the city a couple of days later, leaving early in the morning as Brian had arranged for them to meet his law firm friend for a late lunch. Brian drove, claiming he was more used to city traffic than Chris. They arrived and to Chris's surprise, headed into central Manhattan, down broad streets with skyscrapers, until Brian pulled off the road into a basement garage beneath a tall sparkling glass building.

They headed inside, Brian saying hey to a uniformed doorman, and took an elevator to the thirty-first floor--about halfway up. Chris became more stunned with every passing minute. He knew a few people who lived and worked in New Jersey but kept New York apartments. But he had never yet seen anyone with their apartment in a building as large and central as this. It must be costing Brian an absolute fortune. And he'd just let it lie empty for six months?

"Here we are," Brian intoned, unlocking a door. "Home sweet..." His voice trailed away and stopped. "Huh. I thought I'd left it tidier than this."

Chris looked around. It was a large, roomy apartment with floor to ceiling glass windows all down one side. Chris would have been drawn to the view except that there were other distractions. There was a distinct lack of mail on the doormat, while there _was_ a messy heap of clothes on the floor near the couch.

"What the...?" Brian said, so quietly that Chris could barely hear. Then Brian strode across the room and opened a door. Chris was right behind him to see... a bedroom, with a large bed with shiny brass bedposts and clad in crumpled white linen.

And a fair haired guy asleep in the middle.

"Ethan, what the FUCK!" Brian roared, and the man in the bed jumped awake.

Chris stood watching, leaning against the door frame, arms folded, as Brian yanked the sheets away, and revealed... Ethan, naked.

Chris started to look away but his attention was caught;_ fucking hell!_ Ethan was...well endowed. Chris wasn't one to dwell on size, being completely comfortable in his own skin, but--hmm. He could see there was something to write home about here. Impressive, especially given the complete lack of erection. Quite how big it would be when hard--

_"What the fuck are you doing here?" _Brian was heedless of Ethan's nudity.

"You said you weren't coming back!" Ethan shouted.

"What, so you just moved in?" Brian was incredulous.

"I didn't have anywhere else to go! Chuck threw me out, I needed someplace to crash and you said you weren't coming back! You never asked for your key back!" Ethan ended on an accusing note, like this was all Brian's fault.

Chris took a deep breath and retreated back to the living room, figuring it was best to stay out of this.

"This is _my _apartment!" Brian shouted.

"I lived here for five freaking years too, you know!" Ethan sounded annoyed, not the slightest bit defensive.

"You lived here for five freaking years and you never paid one cent of rent or upkeep or anything--"

"You didn't need it, and you never asked, anyway!" Ethan was righteous.

"_You _dumped _me_!" Brian yelled. "You knew I was depressed! I'd just quit my job and then you stood right here in this room and told me I was boring, you'd had enough, and Chuck the Fuck understood you so much better. And you walked out, you selfish bastard. Did you even care how close I came to fucking just ending it all that night?"

This last was new to Chris, who sucked in his breath as he listened.

"You didn't miss me. You wasted no time turning into the city slut. And now you've found yourself a rough-and-tumble bartender." Ethan waved an arm in Chris's direction. Chris blinked in surprise, but didn't correct the assumption. "I bet he can't believe his luck."

"Get your shit together and get the hell out of my apartment," Brian pointed toward the door. "And don't come back."

Chris waited out of the way in a corner of the living room for a few minutes, while Ethan got dressed, walked around the apartment flinging possessions into a bag, and left, nose high in the air. Brian plucked a set of keys out of Ethan's shirt pocket as he went out of the door. As soon as they were alone, Brian joined Chris and dropped the keys into Chris's hand.

"Chris," Brian said helplessly. "I had no idea--"

"I believe you," Chris cut him off. "But I can see why he'd want to live here." He waved an arm around. "You own this apartment? And you've just let it lie here empty since you came to New Jersey? It must be costing you an absolute fortune! I thought you'd have some poky little room out in the 'burbs... I had no idea you had a fucking enormous loft in Manhattan, for Christ's sake, Brian! You've not fucking well been honest with me--"

Brian blinked in shock. "What?"

"You've let me think you're someone you're not."

"You can just fuck off and die," Brian turned his anger toward Chris. "I've never lied to you. You don't give a damn about money or this apartment! You're just mad because Ethan's got a big dick!"

"Well," said Chris with a drawl. "It does explain why you stayed with such a cheating bastard for five years."

Brian turned purple, and Chris braced himself for a punch.

Instead, Brian said in a low voice laced with fury, "So _you_ feel you have to measure up" (Chris was sure the pun was fully intended), "against a big dick. Spare a thought for _me_; I have to measure up against a dead guy. Who will be forever young, beautiful, and perfect."

Chris froze, shocked by this sudden turn of conversation.

"You don't want anything to displace Edward as the love of your life. Sometimes it feels like I'm sleeping with a hooker," Brian carried on. "You're giving me your body but you're holding back your mind, your emotions, not letting yourself go—"

While Brian was speaking Chris started to shake, physically tremble. He turned away, afraid he was going to cry--and he never cried. He hadn't cried since, well, possibly Edward's death...

"Chris, I'm sorry, I didn't mean--I shouldn't have said..." Brian's voice, now sounding horrified, trailed away.

"Let's not argue about this," Chris said, suddenly weary. "Not now." _Not ever._ He looked at his watch. "We should go, your pal Damian's expecting us at one thirty."

"Yeah." Brian's voice suddenly changed; a note of... guilt, possibly? "Chris, there's something I need to tell you."

Chris looked at Brian, but Brian didn't meet his eye. Surely after discovering Ethan in Brian's bed and then finding out Brian was, well, _rich_, there could be no more shocks today. Not on the same level, anyway. "Go ahead."

Brian mumbled, "Damian's expecting me to go back to the Firm."

"What?" Chris looked at Brian with bewilderment. "You mean... go back to work? Didn't you quit?"

"I did, but they didn't want to lose me, so they called it a leave of absence. I thought so what, I wasn't going back so they could call it what they wanted."

"Then why... then what the hell are we doing here?" Chris demanded. "Didn't you hate this job? Too many cases defending clients who were guilty as hell? Why are you going to see this Damian guy?"

"He called me. He's a good guy... I owe him a lot. Look, I'm going to tell him at lunch, alright? I'm not going back. But... he doesn't know that yet."

Chris fumed silently for a moment, then with an effort, let it go.


	4. Brian The Shark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian contemplates returning to The Firm. Chris seeks out Ethan and Brian's sister.

Brian's former colleague, Damian, was a man of mature years, with thin gray hair and small round spectacles. They met in an upmarket Italian restaurant where Chris immediately felt underdressed without a tie. Damian greeted Brian warmly, declared his delight at meeting Chris, and asked Chris all about himself and his businesses over antipasti. A pleasant conversation along uncontroversial topics ensued.

As they came to the end of the meal, Brian went off to the bathroom. Damian leaned back in his chair and said to Chris, "It's good to see Brian happy with someone, I'm very glad he met you. I was his mentor at The Firm and I was worried about him when he left."

"His mentor?" Chris was inquisitive.

"We're an old established firm, but we realized a few years ago we needed some new blood. The senior partners were all due to retire in a few years, so we found some new bright, driven lawyers, fresh out of law school. Brian was the pick of the bunch. I saw it." Damian spoke with no little pride. "Some of the other partners thought he was too quiet, didn't have spirit, not enough ambition. I found out he had a Pavlovian response to benign pressure."

Chris frowned, not understanding.

"A conditioned reflex," Damian amplified. "He just needed the right stimulus. I knew his father a little, you know--he was a judge, very eager to have his son follow in his footsteps. Brian had been overachieving all his life trying to do what his parents wanted him to do, and when they died, he just tried even harder. I took a paternal interest in him, and that made him brilliant. He was brilliant for a long time, made us all a lot of money, until the pressure overwhelmed him."

"You worked him too hard, and he went into meltdown?" Chris asked, trying not to sound too hostile, trying to figure this all out in his own mind. He didn't like this idea of Damian applying_ benign pressure_ to Brian.

Damian shrugged. "He took whatever pressure we put on him, and magnified it a thousand times himself. It's the way he is. He lost a case a few months before he left, took it very badly..."

Damian's voice trailed away as Brian arrived back at the table and sat down.

"You know, we called him The Shark. Brian the Shark," Damian said with a chuckle, and this was so very far from how Chris saw Brian that he could momentarily do nothing but gawk. Brian looked duly embarrassed.

"There's something I'd like you to take a look at," Damian said to Brian, and slid a small spiral-bound set of papers across the table. "Just your kind of case."

Chris peered at it; some kind of legal paperwork, he could see a title above what looked like some summary briefing notes. Brian picked it up with some hesitation and glanced at the top page, then at the second page. Apparently the content held some interest as he lingered on the second page for a minute, then put it down. "Damian, I don't want--"

"Look," said Damian, smooth as silk. "Why don't you come in the office this afternoon, say hi to everyone, and just take a quick look at the whole file? No commitment, you can just walk away afterwards."

And Chris saw Brian hesitate, and Chris knew in a split second that he wasn't going force Brian's hand here; he did not want to have a Brian with regrets, he was going to have a Brian who chose to be with him, or not at all.

"Go if you want," he said to Brian. "We thought we'd hang around the city another day anyway, didn't we?"

 

* * *

  
It was evening before Brian returned. Chris had gotten hungry waiting and gone out for Mexican, and eaten it alone. Chris could tell the instant Brian walked in the door that he was lost in his head; he looked at Chris a trifle blankly, as if he'd completely forgotten Chris was there.

"You should go home," Brian said abruptly.

"Brian, have you agreed to go back to work?" Chris said in disbelief, looking at the stack of files under Brian's arm.

"I'm thinking about it. Just for the one case, maybe a couple more... It's late, sleep in the bed. I've got to work tomorrow and I have to read these first."

And Brian headed into the study and closed the door behind him.

Chris sat for a while, numb, looking out at the city streetlights down below, hoping Brian might emerge from the study but not wanting to go after him. He realized that shy goofy baking idiot he'd fallen in love with (_in love with?_ Chris pushed that thought away quickly) had slipped away, and the Brian he was seeing now was Brian The Shark. Tempted back to swim in the habitat he knew. Forgetting how much he'd come to hate this job.

Damn this all to hell! Chris couldn't believe that Brian was still a mystery to him after all these months together. It had been so much easier with Edward, for all the problems with intransigent wives and hostile family. It had even been easier fighting House for Wilson, knowing he'd lose...

A question slid into Chris's head: _what would House do? _

Chris couldn't stand House. But for all his faults, House was a very intelligent guy with a truth-antenna attached. Chris recalled House's research poking around into Matt's character. Chris wasn't one to be nosy, but...he could talk to some people, perhaps? People who knew Brian better than he did... like Ethan, if he could bear to. And maybe he could even take a trip to Princeton and talk to the mysterious sister.

Feeling a little guilty but excited at the same time, Chris found Brian's knapsack in the bedroom and dug out the small chunky address book he knew was there in a side pocket. He found Tina's address and number, and called her. He introduced himself rather hesitantly, asked if she'd mind if he came to see her in Princeton the following day. She agreed readily, although sounded a little dubious. "Sure, but I'm not quite sure what I'm doing tomorrow--call me in the morning before you come round, okay?"

Chris then found work and cell numbers for Ethan, but decided he didn't want to speak to the ex on the phone. Instead, he looked at the name of the the restaurant where Ethan worked, and went out to find it.

* * *

  
It was a smart little bistro in a small street away from the tourist trail. Chris went in to find a kitchen area at the back with a large window so restaurant patrons could watch the chefs at work. And there was Ethan, nearly unrecognizable from when Chris had seen him naked in Brian's apartment earlier that day. He was now professionally clad in a white apron, with his blond hair pulled back under a high chef's hat.

Chris took a seat at the bar and settled down to watch. He didn't wait long; Ethan spotted Chris the first time he looked up. Chris tilted his chin and curled a finger; _come talk to me._ Ethan hesitated, then spoke briefly to a colleague, and vanished.

He reappeared through a side door a few minutes later, devoid of hat and apron although his hair was still tied back. It suited him, showed off his cheekbones.

"Well, if it isn't the hunky bartender," Ethan drawled, taking the stool next to Chris, and Chris recalled that Ethan was still thinking of him as he'd been when they'd first met, behind the bar at the club. "Liked what you saw earlier, eh? Fancied your chances? I can only take a fifteen minute break now, but if you hang around until closing time we could hit the town together."

The fucking _ego _of this man was just unbelievable. "No. I wanted to talk to you about Brian."

Ethan curled his upper lip in an expression of disgust. "Then you got five minutes. And you buy the drinks--mine's a Bud. So, what's up?" He smirked. "Have I given you an inferiority complex?"

Chris resisted the temptation to punch Ethan in the nose. "Brian's thinking of going back to work at the law firm. I don't know if it's a good idea or not."

"Man, get him back to work!" Ethan's reaction was immediate and instinctive. "The Shark needs to get back in the water."

"You liked... Brian as the Shark?"

"Brian _is_ the Shark, hey, it's what he was meant to be." Ethan nodded vigorously. "I know he doesn't look it, but when you see him in action--I've seen him in court a few times--if he's onto something then he's like a dog with a bone, won't let go until he's sucked it dry. Fucking hot, too--there's nothing like him when he wins a case. He's on a high better than any drug high, and he's in such a good mood he gets generous." Ethan tilted a wrist, and his sleeve fell back to show off a shiny Rolex. "No better time to suggest you both need a little vacation in Hawaii, or wherever takes your fancy."

Chris was both fascinated and repulsed.

"But the last few months at work he lost the taste for blood, and it just sapped all the life out of him," Ethan was sorrowful. "The dude was nothing without it, he just sunk into himself, no fun anymore. I tried to give him some space but then he quit the job, and that was just the last straw."

"So you dumped him." Chris was thoroughly repulsed now.

Ethan shrugged. "He was sapping all the life out of me too, y'know?"

"And it's all about you."

Ethan glared. "Look, I did him a favor, right? He got off his ass, had some fun, then he met you. And here you are. He likes you and he hates me now. I'm the one fucking well homeless and sleeping on someone's floor, while you're the one who's going to be fucking him silly and living it up in his apartment. He should be thanking me. _You _should be thanking me. If he moves back to New Jersey with you, try and persuade him to rent his apartment out to me. It's the least you can do. It's the least _he _can do."

Chris would have liked to have slapped Ethan silly, but couldn't see it doing any good. He did decide, though, that he wasn't going to have Ethan thinking of him as some Matt-like sponging freeloader.

"Thanks for nothing. And if I want a Rolex, I'll buy one myself," Chris added, and he reached for his wallet to pluck out his American Express Platinum card. He flipped the card to the bartender, and watched Ethan choke on his beer.

The satisfaction was immense.

* * *

  
Chris went back to the apartment to find Brian still closeted in the study. So he went to bed. And when he woke up in the morning, Brian had already gone. Chris breakfasted, then called Tina as promised.

She sounded sleepy, although it was ten in the morning. "Sure, come round this afternoon, any time. I'm not doing much right now."

Borrowing Brian's car, Chris traveled down to Princeton and found Tina's house, a large airy home on the outskirts of Princeton. He rang the bell and a voice within shouted, "Just a minute!"

He waited patiently for a minute until the door was unlocked and opened, and found a very large woman already waddling away towards a living room, saying over her shoulder, "Come in, shut the door. I'm not standing around any more than I have to."

He followed her inside. She plumped herself down on a couch and propped her feet up on a large heap of cushions, raising them above her head. She was pregnant. One part of Chris's brain had known this--Brian had mentioned she'd found out after she'd come back from her Europe trip, remarking wryly, s_he doesn't know if it was the ski instructor in Sweden or the guy that owned a vineyard in Italy!-_-yet Chris had not given it a second thought. She looked very pregnant indeed, not that Chris actually had any idea about how to gauge that.

Chris could walk in any gay bar or club in New Jersey and be completely at home. He could deal with screaming drag queens, big bristling bears, and high-as-a-kite stoners. None of this had remotely prepared him for five minutes in the company of a woman who seemed to be the size of a small house. Where to _look_?--he felt he was staring rudely, but it was like a beached whale had washed up on the couch.

"Feel free to make yourself coffee, or help yourself to juice, or whatever," she said, waving an arm towards the kitchen. Chris looked around to see a large stand mixer on a counter, and remembered Brian had gotten into baking while staying here.

"Uh, no thanks, I'm fine," he said awkwardly. "Um--can I get you anything?"

"No no, I just want to stay still for a bit." She clasped her hands on her stomach and looked sideways at him. "So, Chris, pleased to meet you. I'm Tina. Christina, actually, but let's be glad for both our sakes that I've always been called Tina." (Chris was duly fervently glad for a few seconds). "Tell me about yourself."

Chris talked a little about himself, his life in New Jersey, his businesses, how he'd met her brother in his club by the beach. She nodded, clearly having heard some of this from Brian, and remarked, "My big brother's not the most loquacious of people when it comes to telling me about his boyfriends, but he seems mighty fond of you."

Chris never blushed, but actually felt he might be going pink. "Really?"

She grinned at his embarrassment. "Well, he's sticking around in Jersey for you, right? It must be love."

"Actually that's kind of why I'm here. I don't know if he's sticking around in Jersey or not." Chris plunged in with the problem at hand. "We went to New York yesterday and met this guy from his law firm who's trying to persuade Brian to go back. Brian is...tempted. He's thinking about it."

"Brother Brian can be a complete idiot sometimes." Tina sounded exasperated.

"He's a great guy," Chris said diffidently, not wanting to confide too much in this comparative stranger. "But... I was hoping you could tell me more about him? I don't feel I know him very well. He's always surprising me. Like, I only saw this apartment he has in New York for the first time yesterday."

"He bought that when he got through college and started law school," Tina nodded. "Mom and Dad always brought us up to work for a living, didn't want us to end up as trust fund brats. But they agreed we should buy places to live soon as we each turned twenty-one, 'cause that was an investment. I got this place. Brian got his New York apartment."

Chris was finding it easier to focus now, by concentrating on her face and ignoring her body. He could see the family resemblance with Brian, although it wasn't particularly obvious--she was a bottled blonde and she didn't wear glasses. But she had similar green eyes and slightly uneven features, and he thought that if her face wasn't puffy with pregnancy she might have the same rather goofy look that Brian had.

"Do you know Ethan?" Chris asked.

She looked surprised. "Sure. Well, he wasn't exactly a bosom buddy, but they were together, what, five years? We met at Christmas and stuff. He didn't quite have to do the full meet-the-family thing, as Mom and Dad had died by then, but he coped with meet-the-protective-sister rather well, I thought."

"Your Mom and Dad died in an accident abroad, right?" Chris queried. Brian had told him that but not volunteered anything more, and Chris hadn't liked to ask.

She nodded. "They were on vacation, died of carbon monoxide poisoning in a hotel with crappy maintenance. I was twenty-four and in the middle of my doctorate. Brian was twenty-six, new at The Firm. We sued the shit out of the hotel, Brian's pal Damian was a dynamo. The hotel settled out of court. Hellish time."

"I'm sorry," Chris said inadequately. "Were you a....close family?"

She chuckled, a deep throaty sound. "Close-knit, but pretty boring really, no skeletons in the closet."

Chris was thinking about what Damian had said about benign pressure. "I heard your parents encouraged you to be...overachieving?"

"That's Brian. I rebelled," Tina said. "He was always the one living up to expectations, cramming for exams, taking law like Dad wanted. I did History of Art, like _I_ wanted. I'm a postdoc at the uni now, or was until this happened, anyway." She gestured at her stomach. "I always complained at Brian when we were teenagers that I had to fight all the battles--staying out late, older boyfriends, that kind of thing--'cause he never fought them first. He always tried to argue that he'd had to come out, after all, but I always told him that was too easy to be called a battle."

"Really?" Chris was fascinated. Chris had no siblings and wasn't used to seeing a brotherly-sisterly relationship close up. He remembered Edward's sister, Eleanor--but this was completely different.

"He was fifteen," Tina reminisced. "He was on crutches at the time. He hasn't told you the story?"

"No." Chris never quite liked to ask people about their coming-out stories, but always liked to hear them--he lacked his own, his parents having died when he was six.

"Ah, well." Tina settled a little more comfortably into the couch. "He wanted to play baseball and his coaches said he was a talented catcher, but Mom and Dad decided that he was better at skiing. Brian tried to do them both for a while but they took up too much time, one after the other through the year, so he caved--like I said, he never fought my battles--and gave up baseball. But he never seemed to enjoy skiing so much after that. Senior year, the ski team were at the pool for training when two guys fooling around slammed into Brian. Broke his leg in two places. My poor brother spent his senior year in PT and studying, and not being angry at Mom and Dad about baseball."

Chris was silent, listening, trying to imagine the young Brian, doing what his parents wanted and then fate crapping on him. Broken leg, what a fucking nightmare. Chris had broken his ankle once while jogging, years ago, and despite healing perfectly it still occasionally ached.

"He was on crutches in the kitchen one evening when he just blurted it out," Tina said, her voice holding some wonderment now. "Mom stopped talking long enough about who he might take to the prom to say _are you sure?_ Dad just upped and went off to his study. Mom talked to Brian for a while--they didn't know I was there, listening from the dining room--then Brian went off to bed. He stopped upstairs to say goodnight to Dad, and Dad just said, _How's trig going?_ Brian assured him that he was acing it, and that was that."

"That was that?"

"Brian was acing all of his classes. That's what mattered." Tina shrugged. "Mom and Dad were good people and they loved us a lot, and we knew it. They were just a little too focused on keeping us close, and achieving. And Brian's been trying to make Dad proud of him ever since."

This echo of what Damian had said made a lot of sense.

"He's obviously good at his job," Chris said tentatively. "But he quit last year..."

"He went through a bad time the last year at The Firm, and things were going wrong with Ethan too," Tina said, her voice tired now. "When they both ended at the same time, he told me he was taking some time out to have fun in New York and I was glad. 'Cept when I saw him six months later, he was even more depressed... so I asked him to come house-sit for me. Get him out of the city."

She hesitated. then added, "And when I came back, I found he'd moved to the Jersey shore and met you. I've never seen him happier."

"Really?"

"Really. You want my advice? Get him out of The Firm. It turned him into a nutjob. Haul his ass back home with you."

"I will." Full of determination now, Chris stood up to go. "Thanks. And, uh, hope everything goes well." He gestured awkwardly into nowhere. "When's it due?"

"Yesterday," Tina said and laughed at his look of horror. "That's why I asked you to check before you got here, but he's taking his own sweet time. Don't worry, I have a fleet of friends on standby, waiting for my call--" she waved a hand at a phone handset within easy reach on a side table--"and a case packed and ready to go in the hall. I'll phone Brian after it's all over to let him know when he's an uncle. He's even worse at dealing with this kind of thing than you are."

Chris laughed nervously and left hastily; he had no wish to be around should anything happen.

* * *

  
Chris traveled back to New York, rehearsing what to say, marshaling points of argument about the stress of the job and the difficulty of long-distance relationships.

He arrived back at Brian's apartment in the late afternoon, and found Brian there. He lay on his side on the bed, fully dressed, staring out of the large glass windows.

"Hey," Chris said, a little taken aback. He'd expected Brian to be at The Firm.

"Hey," Brian said, his tone listless. "I quit. This time, for real. I told Damian I'm not coming back."

"Really!" Pleased and surprised, and relieved, Chris came to perch on the bed next to Brian.

"I found the defendant in the case, a complete bastard by the way, was the son of this big shot financier who plays golf with our senior partner," Brian said in a tone of disgust. "Suddenly I remembered this shit happens all the time. _All _the fucking time. My chest went tight--could hardly breathe--then I thought I was going to throw up. I left first."

"It's for the best." Chris was decisive.

"Maybe, but...what the fuck do I do now? Go back to minding the Carys' shop and making desserts for the seniors' bake sale?"

"You were _happy _doing that," Chris reminded him. "And you can do whatever you want to do--you don't need the money. Be a trust fund brat for a while, study History of Art or whatever the hell you're actually interested in." He hesitated, then went on boldly, "You don't need to try and make your father proud anymore."

Brian snorted, but didn't seem to be offended. "You've been talking to Tina." He looked thoughtful. "I'm not interested in History of Art, but I've sometimes thought I'd like to give writing a go, screenwriting, perhaps... I could take some classes. And work at the Carys' for pocket money. Hey, and use my law training to offer cheap legal advice down at the old folks' community center." His enthusiasm was growing by the second. "That would be fun, and a really useful thing to do, too. And if I rent this place out, I should easily make enough to cover my apartment down near you..."

Chris was delighted. "Do it. And," he paused, then took the plunge. "If you come live with me, you won't even need another apartment."

Brian turned his head and looked up at Chris, his green eyes big and magnified more by his glasses. "You want me to move in with you? Seriously?"

Chris hadn't lived with anyone, not properly, since Edward. He didn't want to think about that right now. "You've spent enough time at my place that you're practically living there anyway. I'm asking you now 'cause I think that beanbag--" he pointed randomly at an item across the room--"would look pretty cool in my living room."

Brian laughed. "Then we'll take it with us when we go." He reached up and pulled Chris downwards for a kiss. "So, let's go. Unless?--"

"Uh." Chris had a hand inside Brian's shirt, was feeling warmth and skin and chest hair. He nuzzled Brian's neck, breathing the scent of seaweed and eucalyptus shower gel. "Let's just stay here a little longer."

Brian wrapped his arms around Chris and the two of them kissed deeply for a long time, tongues probing and darting, fingers deftly undoing buttons and shirts and pants. After a while Brian found lube in a drawer; Chris started to work Brian with fingers, stroking and stretching until Brian was red in the face and writhing under his hand.

Rolling on a condom, Chris stood up and took Brian at the foot of the bed, Brian on his back with legs wide and mouth open, jacking his own cock and moaning, "_Chris," _while Chris was grinding small circular movements deep inside him.

They both held off for longer than Chris would have warranted possible, and the stupendous almost simultaneous climax that ended it cemented Chris's satisfaction that Brian was coming home with him. For good.


	5. Epilogue - Edward's Testimonial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ziggy has some unexpected news about Edward.

Chris and Brian were out having lunch in a roadside diner one day when Chris's cell rang. He looked at the display; Linus. He picked up. "Hey."

"Chris," Linus said, his voice distant. "I'm visiting Ziggy down at the station. I was wondering if you'd join me? There's something Ziggy would like to ask you."

Chris was puzzled. Deputy police chief Bowie had always been more Linus's pal than his, but Chris knew him reasonably well. Ziggy had been very helpful on numerous occasions in the past, particularly with problems at the club, but Chris couldn't think of any recent infractions... no drugs busts in the vicinity... no fights of any significance. "Uh, sure. Now?"

"If you can."

"OK. Brian's with me, mind if he tags along?"

"Not at all, the more the merrier," Linus said. "See you soon."

Chris hung up to find Brian looking at him inquisitively, and explained, "We're visiting the police station."

They arrived half an hour later at Ziggy's office, on the top floor of a concrete building, well away from the hustle and bustle of police business down below. It was a nicely furnished room, as befitting his rank. Ziggy was lounging behind his large oak desk, and stood up as they came in. "Thanks for dropping by."

They shook hands and dropped into chairs. Ziggy looked at Linus, who was sitting on an overstuffed comfy chair in a corner. "You want to tell them, or shall I?"

"Allow me," said Linus, and Chris and Brian both swiveled to face him.

Chris was by now very curious indeed. He didn't think he was in any trouble, Ziggy didn't seem to be angry, so what on earth was this about?

"Two days ago, a man was arrested up in Newark after a hit and run," Linus said, his tone matter-of-fact. "He'd been driving a stolen car after a robbery, and hit a teenage girl who died later in hospital. His name is Owen Bodie, and when the police ran his prints, it turned out they matched a number of other similar hit-and-run and joyriding incidents over the last ten years or so, where nobody had been caught."

Suddenly Chris saw where this was going. He sat, frozen, as if a car crash was happening in front of them right now and he was powerless to stop it.

"Edward?" he said hoarsely. He felt Brian twitch beside him.

"See, I've had a flag on Edward's accident file for a very long time, like forever," Ziggy took over, speaking in a gentle tone. "Anyone gets a match on those prints, they know to call me. Newark saw the flag, they called me yesterday. I went there straight away."

Chris sprang to his feet and started pacing, hardly aware of what he was doing. He could feel his heart hammering away behind his ribs. "You saw this Bodie guy? You talked to him?"

"I did." Ziggy's voice was very quiet. "The Newark police have got him, Chris, dead to rights. He's sitting there in this cell, disgusted at himself for having been caught, blaming the piece of shit car he'd hoisted. So when I got there, I asked if he remembered taking a red Toyota for a spin near the coast ten years ago and..."

Chris stopped pacing and put a hand out to lean against a wall.

"He said," Ziggy continued, lifting his fingers in quote marks, "_Oh yeah. The guy who came off the Harley and got run over, right? I felt bad about that, 'til I read in the local paper he was a faggot, so no loss there--_"

_"FUCK!" _Chris roared, and slammed a first into the wall. "_FUCK! FUCK!--"_

He stopped, because there were no words. A crack had appeared in the wall in front of him and his knuckles were bleeding, but all he could feel was rage boiling in his veins, a fury worse than he'd ever felt.

In the background he could hear Brian talking swiftly, asking Ziggy questions. Words and phrases like _misdemeanor manslaughter_ and _second degree vehicular homicide_ flickered past. Chris didn't understand, didn't care, could only understand that the man who had caused the accident which had killed Edward was sitting in a prison cell and Chris hoped he rotted there as long as possible.

He leaned his forehead against the wall. The paintwork was cold beneath his skin. He felt water on his cheeks and realized he was crying; God, he hadn't cried in years. Possibly not since Edward's death.

Brian was standing next to him now, not being intrusive, just letting a hand rest on Chris's arm.

"Hey," Brian said gently, and Chris was both glad that Brian was there and simultaneously wanted to be on his own forever to try and cope with this.

"Owen Bodie is going down," Linus stated. "He could get five to ten years. And what would help," Linus was speaking loudly now, "is a victim impact statement."

Chris looked at Linus, then at Ziggy, questioning.

"A testimonial in court, from his next-of-kin," Ziggy explained. "Someone who knew him, who loved him. It would be difficult and stressful, but--"

"I'll do it," Chris cut in without hesitation, voice choked in a sob.

 

* * *

  
When he tried to start writing it, he didn't think he could do it after all.

Chris wasn't used to writing about himself, about feelings, about emotions. He was a practical kind of person, he could write reports and accounts, but he wasn't artistic. This felt like creative writing, which he hadn't done since high school. And he hadn't been any good at it then either.

"There are models for victim impact statements you can follow. There's lots of help and advice out there for this kind of thing," Brian said, and duly found some. It didn't help at all. Chris read through it all, and he tried sitting in front of a computer, and he tried using a pen and paper, and he could barely write a word. It just wouldn't come out.

"Look," Brian said eventually. "Tell me what you want to say, and I'll write it down."

Chris didn't want to. He was no more used to talking about himself than writing about himself. And he particularly didn't want to start telling Brian, of all people, what a great guy Edward had been.

"Forget it's me you're talking to." Brian was patient. "Just pretend you're dictating to a stranger, alright?"

Chris grimaced in the face of Brian's tenacity, and realized this was Brian The Shark, with a case he didn't want to lose. Curiously, this helped. He blocked out Brian as his beloved and started to speak to a hard-faced lawyer, and found he could talk about Edward after all. And once he started, there seemed to be a lot to say.

It then helped that Brian's responses were resolutely professional. "No, you can't say that...You cannot talk about sex, don't even allude to it!...Do not mention the wife!...Keep it short--you don't need to tell your life story...And you can't fucking well swear!"

The irony that Brian was helping him write a eulogy to the _other_ man he'd loved was not something Chris wanted to dwell on.

* * *

  
And so Chris found himself standing in a witness box at the end of Owen Bodie's case, prior to sentencing, statement in hand.

There had been a fuss at the last minute about whether Chris was an appropriate next-of-kin person to give a victim impact statement, given that Edward had both a sister and a widow still around. Although Chris and Edward had bolstered themselves with as much of a legal framework as they could, exchanged rings and made a commitment, they had predated the era of civil unions and domestic partnerships. Brian The Shark got on the case, with support and information from Linus, and it was sorted. Chris didn't know how they did it, didn't ask, but he gathered that Edward's sister Eleanor had been vociferous in his support.

So there he was. He stared round at the courthouse and tried to avoid looking at the defendant.

"Edward was the most important person in my life," Chris began. "I loved him more than anyone, more than I thought it possible to love anyone, and I'd like to tell you a bit more about him."

He tried to block out rustling noises from the court as he carried on. "Edward was creative. He was an architect. He built houses for people. Beautiful houses which people loved to live in. He built our house, where we lived for nearly ten years. I still live there, I could never live anywhere else. I look at a window frame or a door jamb and I know Edward put it there. One of my most treasured possessions is a drawing he did of our house when it was half-finished, just a rough sketch in pencil, but with beauty in every stroke, every line."

Chris looked around and was encouraged that people seemed to be attentive, listening. "He had a good eye for all kinds of design--colors, patterns, fabrics, furniture. When he was working on a design in his sketchbook, nothing could disturb him; he'd sit for hours, adding detail, his glasses sitting on the end of his nose, his hair flopped down over his eyes. He had some funny quirks. He got lost a lot, usually distracted by an interesting building or a strange-shaped tree. He used to break things all the time, glasses, crockery, just being absent-minded." He thought briefly of Brian, and pushed this from his mind.

"Edward loved the outdoors, and took inspiration from it. He made me appreciate natural beauty--the sea, the sun, the stars. He taught me constellations, and whenever I look up at the sky and see Orion's Belt or the Great Bear, I think of us lying on our backs at the beach on the sand at night, him pointing upwards, showing me each one." Chris paused for breath, and to swallow a lump in his throat.

"He encouraged me to better myself. It was thanks to him that I went back and finished college. It was because of him that I gave up smoking, well, the first few hundred times anyway." Wry smile; Chris saw some looks of empathy in the room. "He liked to keep fit, he was a runner. He ran the New York marathon once, raising thousands of dollars for charity. We used to go skiing every winter, he adored snow too."

"I used to get angry and stressed a lot over nothing, before I met him; he was a soothing influence. He rarely got mad, and never without reason. Everyone liked Edward. There was nothing not to like; he was an incredibly nice guy, very good-natured. He was valued by his work colleagues. He had loving parents who were heartbroken by his death--they've since passed on themselves--and a sister, Eleanor, who's here in court today." Chris nodded across to the public gallery, where Ellie sat, wrapped up in a long woolen shawl as if physically trying to hold herself together with it. She nodded back in a small, shy, movement.

"He gave up a lot when he came to live with me. I had never really loved anyone before, nor had anyone really love me before--it was a shock, and it took a while to get used to, for both us. But once we did--I could never imagine life without him. It was inconceivable. I trusted him absolutely, and if I could have died instead of him, I'd have done it in a heartbeat." Chris closed his eyes briefly, and took a deep breath.

"Nothing that happens here now will bring him back, of course. But I just wanted to tell you how the day he died, part of me died right there on the highway with him. Not a day goes by when something doesn't remind me of him. I see someone who looks a bit like him, perhaps, and then I want him to be there so badly I can hardly bear it. Every anniversary of his death, I live it all over again. I thought it would get better with time, but seems only to get worse."

And Chris turned and walked blindly out of the witness box, out of the courthouse, back to the car. Brian was right there beside him.

Chris took the driver's seat, wanting the wheel, wanting the control. Brian's phone beeped several times during the journey home, and he relayed messages. First, "Eleanor--that was beautiful and moving."

Then, "Linus--not a dry eye in the court."

And a bit later, "Ziggy--sentencing, he got ten years. Fucking A+."

Chris was both glad and didn't care anymore.

* * *

  
At home that evening, Brian felt flat. He'd spent a long time and put a lot of effort into helping Chris write a paean to the dead love of his life. Funny, Brian felt he would have probably liked Edward a lot, if he'd ever had the chance to meet him. But every word of that statement just hammered it home; he'd never be Edward, this bar that Chris measured everyone against.

That night, Brian lay in bed and wondered what would have happened if Edward hadn't died. Would he, Brian, have ever hooked up with Chris? Brian imagined an encounter in the club, perhaps; Chris horny and aggressive, making a pass at him; himself succumbing to that ass in biking leathers and those lovely gray eyes; Edward a gorgeous, interested observer.

A good hard fuck on the casting couch, probably. And then he'd have gone on his way; never gotten to know Chris properly, never developed a relationship. And even if he had, he'd have always been a poor second to Edward...

He woke the following morning to find the bed empty next to him. Brian sighed and wondered where Chris had gone. Maybe he'd gone to visit Edward's memorial tree. Or maybe he'd gone off to lick his wounds on his own for a few days. Brian resolved not to ask, just to accept Chris back whenever and whatever state he came back in.

It was a shame; Brian had hoped making this statement might exorcise some demons. Instead it seemed to have just stirred everything up again.

He got up, showered and breakfasted in a leisurely fashion. He'd just finished when to his surprise he heard the sound of an engine outside and recognized the motorcycle. Chris back, already?--that was a good sign.

He walked through to the kitchen as Chris came in the door, clad in black leather pants, jacket and boots. Brian took a second to admire the sight, and then noticed Chris was holding something out of sight.

"I got you something," Chris said, without preamble.

And to Brian's amazement, Chris produced a motorcycle helmet from behind his back. A new helmet--shiny and red. For _him_?...

"I think maybe I'm ready to carry passengers again," Chris said, sounding a trifle sheepish.

Brian covered the ground between them in a couple of strides, threw an arm around Chris, and kissed him hard. Chris kissed back, handing him the helmet, then asked, "Wanna go for a spin? Test it out?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Brian said sincerely, and they headed outside to where the Harley waited. Brian put on the helmet and got on behind Chris.

"You'd better hold on fucking tight," Chris warned over his shoulder.

And they roared away up the road. It was a beautiful morning and the sun was high in the sky.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to say a huge thank-you to Brian's birth mom, [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=hickman_1937)[**hickman_1937**](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=hickman_1937), who created him and was generous enough to give me free rein with his story. Enormous thanks are also due to Brian's adoptive aunt, [](http://srsly-yes.livejournal.com/profile)[**srsly_yes**](http://srsly-yes.livejournal.com/), whose enthusiasm has kept me going, and whose input has greatly enriched this fic.
> 
> Finally, massive thanks to everyone who's followed this and especially those of you kind enough to let me know.


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